


An Accidental Demon

by MidnightBlast



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: But demonic powers, Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, Demon!Percival, M/M, Non-wizard AU, Vet-Student!Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBlast/pseuds/MidnightBlast
Summary: All Newt wanted from IKEA was a bookshelf. Instead, he left with a demon that he accidentally summoned while trying to pronounce furniture names. Lovely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have Colin Farrell on my mind and my friend's FB posts are too inspiring for their own good. Just a small thing. For now.  
> Thanks, y'all!

Oh, dear. Shopping at IKEA should not be so stressful. As if assemble-it-yourself furniture wasn’t intimidating enough, there was also the indignity of trying to pronounce the furniture names.

But there was nothing for it. This was the third bookshelf that Dougal – his Great Pyrenees rescue – had taken out in as many months while chasing his sweet Niffler cat around. Honestly, one would think after a year of cohabitation, the dog and cat would be used to each other. But the sad, destroyed remains of Newt’s bookshelf told a different story.

That’s how he found himself back at IKEA. But this time, a simple replacement wouldn’t do. He needed something more robust. Hopefully, something that might be spared catastrophic damage during any future high speed chases. Maybe even something wall mounted? Perhaps those modular shelves that he could pick, arrange and mount well above Dougal’s sizable height? Hm, that might be just the ticket.

But now, as he wandered through the aisles, trying to match the product names from his internet search to the various tags of assembled, display furniture – maybe it would be simpler to just get what he got last time. Even if Dougal would likely destroy it a fourth time.

Newt ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip as he looked back down to his loopy handwriting. “No, not Ehk-t…Lix-hult. That looks familiar.” There was certainly a time and place to appreciate cultural and linguistic differences, but navigating the aisles of IKEA was not it, in Newt’s opinion. He just wanted to buy shelves, go home, assemble them and change out of his fur covered scrubs. Yes, he loved his vet school clinical rotations but Dougal, Niffler and the others tended to be a little possessive when he was home.

He moved for the next row, holding up his paper to compare more names, mumbling under his breath. “Let’s see – oh, there’s Lix-hult, Li-xhult…err, Mos-torp. Sval-na. Um, Best-aa.”

A just barely-there puff of air brushed his cheek, carrying an odor. A rather…unpleasant, rotten odor. If Newt didn’t know better, he’d swear it was the smell of rotten eggs. But that was impossible in the middle of a furniture store. That’s when he noticed the dark shape in his peripheral. A dark shape that he distinctly didn’t recall before.

He turned, keeping his eyes down, but he couldn’t help but take in the man now standing next to him. Refined and polished, his sharp suit and shoes alone must have cost at least a year of Newt’s sad student job salary. And that was to say nothing about the sleek black overcoat that teased a luxurious white lining. The man’s dark eyes, thick brows, strong jaw, and dark hair streaked white at his temples, completed the unfairly attractive, imposing picture.

Newt – with uncombed hair, scrubs covered in all manner of animal fur, and a worn blue overcoat – felt like a downright slob by comparison to this man who looked fresh from a magazine cover. Newt blinked quickly, trying to quirk his lips in a polite smile. Small talk with strangers was always the most excruciating. Especially when the stranger was so handsome. “Um, hello…please, excuse me. If I’m in your way, that is.” He stepped back, not daring to meet the man’s gaze, feeling his cheeks flush. Curse his fair skin that betrayed him at every turn.

The dark-haired man said nothing, but Newt could feel the weight of his stare. It made him want to fidget even more than normal, and he chanced a lingering glance at the man’s face. The man studied him with an otherworldly intensity in those dark brown eyes. It reminded Newt of a predator studying a prey, learning their habits to plan a more effective kill. He wrenched a nervous swallow, suddenly wondering if he could outrun this man.

The man blinked, licking his lips quickly. “Hello, Mr. Scamander.”

The blood froze in Newt’s veins, every survival instinct kicking into gear. “H-how…do you know my name?” Sure, it was the obvious question, but it had to be asked. “We’ve never met before. And I certainly don’t know your name. Are you…have you been stalking me?” The words poured forth, more a nervous tic than anything. But still true. Newt would never have forgotten such a striking face.

“No,” mild astonishment and irritation colored the other man’s gaze, “I was quite content to mind my own business until you summoned me.”

“Summoned….I beg your pardon, summoned you?” Had Newt gone to IKEA or the Twilight Zone? Who just went up to strangers and said stuff like that? Newt blew an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “Look, if you really have nothing better to do than prank defenseless people at IKEA, then I’m sorry for you. But truly, this has gone on long enough, and I’m genuinely not amused.”

The man raised a brow, affronted. “You’re genuinely not amused? I assure you, the feeling is quite mutual. So, let us conclude our deal here, and then I’ll gladly return to my previous business.”

“Deal?” Newt echoed, shaking his head. “We have no deal to conclude. I don’t even know you!”

“Your mistake if you spoke my incantation without knowing who I am. Which, I will confess – is rather reckless of you, Mr. Scamander. In fact, no protection charms, no summoning circle,” the man’s lips curled with a devilish air as he took a step forward, gazing down Newt’s body with a calculating assessment. “Mm, the fun I could have with you right here.”

The purred words should in no way race a tingling shiver of anticipation down Newt’s spine, but dammit, they did.

Newt licked his lips, holding his ground. “A summoning circle, protection…why should I need protection from you?”

“You really don’t know who I am? Or what you’ve done?”

“Well, you said I summoned you. But I didn’t…I was just…,” Newt shook the paper with the shelf names scrawled on it, “I was just trying to pronounce the names of these shelving units-."

“And instead, you summoned a demon. Please stop wasting my time, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt registered nothing of the man’s bored tone, stunned at the admission. At the possibility. A demon? A real, live demon?! Weren’t they just supernatural make-believe? But this man before him, pulling a silver pocket watch from his suit vest and flipping the cover back with an irritated gesture, was so very real. Newt’s eyes lit with possibility. “A demon. Truly? That’s what you are?”

“Yes,” the self-professed demon huffed mildly, “now, please, to the business at hand?”

A grin cracked Newt’s face. “I don’t even know what the business at hand is. But a real demon. My goodness.” This was far better than any Christmas morning. A chance to learn about a whole new species - a whole new creature. A supernatural creature! If everything the man said was true, then Newt wanted to learn everything there was to learn. His wild curiosity begged for so much more. Where did the demon come from? Did he have powers? What was his purpose here? “I-I have so many questions.”

“None of which I’m inclined to answer. Especially not here.” The dark eyes glanced around shrewdly, taking in the movements of other unsuspecting shoppers.

Something in the man’s -  _demon’s_  - assessment suddenly made Newt self-conscious, glancing around with a nervous edge. Goodness, what a picture he must make standing next to this man. This man, dressed to the nines, clearly many years older than Newt - supernatural implications notwithstanding - who could at best pass as Newt’s friend, and at worst a sugar daddy. Heat flamed unbidden in Newt’s cheeks at the thought.

He shook his head, physically trying to shake the thought away. “Yes, yes, of course. We should probably leave. Well, that is, assuming you’re bound or stuck to me, or something…until whatever brought you here is concluded.”

Irritation flashed in the demon’s eyes, staring back at Newt as if trying to convince himself that Newt was actually real.

Newt waited for the demon to respond, shifting his weight on his feet. Anything to lessen his discomfort under the scrutiny of those intense eyes. Annoyance bubbled as the older man said nothing and Newt puffed a sigh. “Alright, very well. If you’re coming, that’s fine - if not, then…then, good day.”

He’d been plainly aware since his arrival in New York for veterinary school that his accent and manners didn’t fit with the vibrant American hustle and bustle. But they were something he hadn’t wanted to lose. There was no cause to bring more ugliness to the world, and everyone deserved well-mannered treatment. Demon or not.

Even if the man had interrupted his bookshelf buying outing. 

But if Newt did indeed have a demon to contend with, perhaps replacing a damaged bookshelf was now the least of his worries.

The well-dressed man fell into step beside him as Newt turned to thread his way through the rest of the labyrinth store. It…this was just too absurd. And certainly not what Newt had planned for his Thursday night after clinicals. He cast a sideways glance, surprised to note that the demon was actually a couple inches shorter than he was. Something about that amused him, and a lopsided grin lifted his mouth. “You know, we haven’t properly met yet. It sounds like you already know, but I’m Newton Scamander. Newt, though, if you please.”

The man nodded almost imperceptibly. “You may call me Graves.”

Newt’s brow furrowed. “Just Graves?”

“Mr. Graves, if you prefer.”

“Don’t…don’t you have a first name or something less…severe?” The demon stared over at him, blank and hard. “Right, Mr. Graves it is. I…I take it that’s not your real name?” The smell of the cinnamon rolls and other food from the eatery reached his nose as, thankfully, they neared the exit.

“I’ve had many names over the millennia. Street. Dandridge. Clayton. Each served a purpose, just as Graves does now. And if you don’t already know my true name, then me telling you is certainly not advantageous.” Graves’ coat flared in the cool, late afternoon air as they exited into the fading sunlight. He looked completely unbothered by the transition from inside to outside, paying Newt no mind while Newt fumbled with the buttons on his coat. They were in for a chilly subway ride, after all.

Newt glanced over to Graves, intrigued. “Does… the cold not bother you? Or…or the sunlight?”

Graves’ face pinched with obvious irritation, even bewilderment. “I’m not a vampire.”

Newt’s eyes widened, excited. “Do those exist, too?”

Graves’ hand clenched at his side under the flared sleeve of his overcoat, a condescending disapproval hardening his gaze. It was impressively intimidating. Especially considering the man stood shorter than Newt. Without a word, Graves turned with a sweep of black and white fabric, and stepped forward on the curb, raising a hand at the passing line of taxis.

“No, no,” Newt moved after him with an obvious air of panic, “we’ll do better to take the subway. See, I don’t exactly live all that close. And with traffic at this time of day, well - a taxi won’t be cost effective. I don’t…I don’t know if you understand about money-”

“I understand plenty, Mr. Scamander.” The words were snarled with a coiled frustration that froze Newt in place. “I understand that you ripped me from my previous business without a purpose. I understand that you’ve initiated a contract that you don’t know the first thing about. And I understand that if I must endure New York City until our business is concluded, I will never set foot on the subway.”

A yellow cab stopped at the curb and Graves stepped up to it without waiting for Newt to respond.

Oh dear. Newt worked a hard swallow down his throat as he debated following the demon or just bolting for the subway station. Would that make things worse? Could things get worse?

The cab door stayed open behind Graves as he settled against the black interior, glancing back at Newt. The silent command on the demon’s face was unmistakable.

With another nervous swallow, Newt stepped forward and climbed into the taxi.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has to make a deal with the devil...er, demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, y'all. This little story has received more love than I dreamed - a big thank you to everyone who read, kudos'ed, commented, and bookmarked. Your support for this story has just blown me away!!
> 
> Newt & Percival have taken me on a journey that I didn't expect, so here goes....
> 
> And if you're looking for serious demonology here, be ye warned. It's loosely rooted in 'Supernatural', with a touch of wizard-ness. Also, assumes demons generally keep their same physical form/looks whether on Earth or in Hell - body materialization is the norm, but they can possess and jump bodies as needed. It made things more fun to play around with...and Percival couldn't be anyone else but Mr. Farrell. 
> 
> Cheers, y'all!

Newt gave the cabbie his address and the ride proceeded in silence.

Would he have to invite the demon - Graves - inside his flat once they got there? Graves already said he wasn’t a vampire, but Newt didn’t know if that rule extended to demons, as well. But now that he sat next to one, maybe he should take five minutes and run a quick google search. Would that raise Graves’ eyebrows? Surely, he wouldn’t begrudge Newt using his phone. And even if Newt was gutsy enough to send an SOS text, who would believe that Newt was actually riding in a taxicab with an honest-to-God demon?

A demon who sat, cooly gazing out the window, looking like he owned the cab. Like he owned the city. Was that even possible?

Newt glanced at the meter, his stomach seizing on the current amount as he watched it tick higher. He shifted against the seat, reaching under his coat for his phone. He needed the distraction. Angling the screen away from his dark, silent companion, he typed quickly in the browser.

Goodness, who knew there was so much out there on demons. The search results were overwhelming. And so dependent on the platform. The ‘Supernatural’ TV show. Christian religion. But there some predominant themes, it seemed.

Demons were organized. They all fell within a hierarchy, reporting to the next level above them unless they were at the top. Princes, generals, knights. Each rank, of course, came with commensurate abilities. Possession, telekinesis, teleportation. The more Newt clicked and scrolled, the more questions swirled in his brain. How...how had he so easily stumbled upon summoning such a creature? Was that a regular occurrence at IKEA?

At least, now he understood Graves’ earlier reference to protection charms and summoning circles. Apparently, humans tried to keep the upper hand on their interactions with demons during summoning. Apparently, demons didn’t give one whit about humans, whether they were summoners or not, because demons cultivated pain, chaos and death, and thrived in torture and destruction.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. What was Newt supposed to do with a death-dealing, agent for chaos demon...who supposedly was here to do Newt’s bidding. To do Newt’s bidding in exchange for something in return. His soul, apparently. If the internet was to be believed.

“Enjoying yourself?” Graves’ soft, smokey voice nearly made Newt drop his phone.

His eyes darted up from the screen to his companion, taking in the faint lift of the demon’s lips. Was…? He…? Graves couldn’t read Newt’s mind, could he? No web page had mentioned such an ability.

Graves turned back to the window as if he’d never said anything at all. Goodness, maybe he hadn’t and Newt was losing his mind under the weight of so many unknowns. The questions pushed at the forefront of his brain, threatening to burst from his throat. But what would Graves do if he let something slip in the presence of the cabbie?

The rest of the taxi ride crawled as the meter climbed ever steadily upward. But mercifully, at last, they finally arrived. With a receipt in his pocket bearing on obscene amount, Newt crossed up the steps to his building with Graves close on his heels.

Living on a study-abroad student’s budget in NYC didn’t lend itself to the finer things. But Newt’s flat was relatively insect-free, decently maintained, and the radiator worked great in the dead of winter. Best of all, the landlord didn’t ask too many questions about pets. But as the narrow stairs creaked under his and Graves’ footsteps, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. With the way Graves dressed and his anti-subway sentiments, he would surely detest such surroundings and Newt really didn’t want to deal with any additional disdain.

Pleasant heat flooded out of the flat as the door opened under Newt’s hand. Scrabbling claws sounded on the worn floor, indicative of an excited Dougal charging from the bedroom. Newt slung his bag onto the entryway table and braced for impact.

The great white dog came around the corner, tongue flopping and tail wagging. But almost as soon as Dougal rounded the corner, the big dog slammed on the brakes, skittering across the floor as his face shifted from joy to snarling anger. Fur rose on the his hackles, lips curling back to bear his canines as he growled, low and menacing.

Newt stared, dumbfounded. “Dougal - hey, boy. It’s alright. Settle down, please.”

The door closed firmly behind Graves, a weighty reminder that Newt was not alone. A low, answering growl sounded behind Newt and he spun, bending his knees and raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. Graves’ eyes were impossibly dark as he snarled back at the dog, and Newt suddenly feared he would find himself in the middle of a fight that he couldn’t possibly hope to contain. Guttural words issued from Graves’ throat in a language that Newt had never heard and Dougal dropped his belly to the floor, back peddling as he tucked his tail, darting back for the bedroom.

“Dougal!” Newt called after him, heavy with concern and alarm. Dougal had never turned tail like that before. He turned to Graves with an accusing stare. “What did you say to him? This is his home. You’re the guest here, and you have no right -”

“Your dog is not harmed.” The darkness lifted from Graves' eyes. “But he will not be a bother going forward.”

“Be a bother?” Newt’s eyes widened, a barely contained note of frustration on his voice. “Be a bother?! You can’t just do...whatever it was you just did. They’re defenseless creatures in our human dominated world who have no control and no say in determining their circumstances.”

“Dogs take better to angels.” Graves swept the flat with a clinical look as he stepped more into the space, commanding every square meter. “I know that you also have a cat, a bird, and at least one praying mantis. You’ll find your cat will take much better to my presence.”

“You leave Niffler alone. Honestly, I cannot abide such disparaging remarks against cats. Nothing about them lends an innate association with the Devil."

“Believe what you will, but there’s a reason cats are used as familiars.”

“Familiars?” A throbbing ache started in the back of Newt’s head as he shrugged out of his coat, throwing it over his bag. “So, witches are just as real as demons and vampires. And - and angels.” This was just too much. Mind-blowing and fascinating, and utterly mad. But he was here, this was happening, and the demon continued to move through Newt’s flat taking in the paltry collection of furniture, pet toys littering the old carpet, and personal artifacts scattered across various surfaces, including the damaged bookshelf.

It was time to start making some sense out of this. Newt leveled Graves with a determined look. “So, you’re here because I summoned you. And now - I ask you for something, and I give you something as payment. And we’re done?”

Graves cocked a wry brow, turning back to him as a glimmer of light caught in the gems on his scorpion collar pins. “Five minutes on the internet, and now you’re an expert on demon summoning contracts?”

“I needed to start somewhere. Though, I suppose that I will need your...terms. Or limitations. Or whatever...binding agreements this summoning entails.”

“Yes,” Graves sounded bored, “you summoned me. Presumably with a purpose - something you want me to do for you. And yes, you will offer me something in return. I may accept, I may bargain. Then, I uphold my end of the deal, and you pay up at a date and time of my choosing. That’s it.”

Newt wrenched a hard swallow. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But, I...I don’t want whatever it is you’re offering - death, destruction, chaos, what have you. I like this world, generally speaking. And I certainly don’t wish demonic levels of disruption on anyone. Or anything.” Newt shook his head, casting about for a fleeting thought. “Can’t we just cancel the contract before we even begin? I release you, or however it’s said.”

“It’s not that easy.” The demon leveled him with a look that was somehow more serious than any previous gaze. “So, what do you propose?”

Good heavens. Newt raked a hand through his hair, struggling to find words. How else could he phrase it? He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t want to cause any trouble. Or destroy anything. He just wanted to help. To help...the poor, defenseless creatures who didn’t have a voice. To save them from the injustice of indifferent humans and cruel caretakers.

Wait. Perhaps there was a way to make this work. If demons excelled at destruction, then maybe, just maybe. Perhaps that destructive power could be used to end those who brought harm to animals. The possibilities churned in Newt’s brain. Animal shelters that kill, zoos that keep animals in unacceptable prisons, owners who leave their pets outside come hell or high water.

For years, Newt had longed to make changes. For years, he stood by and watched as animals were brought to the campus clinic with signs of obvious neglect and trauma. And for years, Newt had been powerless to do nothing but stand there and treat those poor animals. But now? Now, that he had some real power at his fingertips!? And if it took a personal sacrifice to save others in need? Well, that was a small price to pay.

Maybe.

Probably.

He looked to Graves, unable to fully banish the hopeful curl of his lips. “Can you...help me save animals?”

“That’s not really my area.”

“Then, what is your area?”

Graves shrugged a brow, as if unable to believe the question. “Surely, your internet research clued you in to the things I can do. Vanquish enemies. Bestow fame and glory. Unleash plagues.”

Newt froze, eyes wide. “You’ve released a plague?”

A guarded expression crossed Graves' face. “A lifetime ago.”

“Wow. That’s just...goodness. Well, I don’t think that we need a plague here - I don’t want anything so destructive. I just want...people who hurt animals to be stopped. There’s so much injustice that I cannot ignore.”

Graves stared at him, disgust evident in the set of his face. “I can’t destroy zoos and animal farms.”

“Well, of course I don’t mean for you to teleport around the world destroying such places. If that is, indeed, one of your abilities. That would create a logistical nightmare to properly care for all those animals without advanced planning.” Newt circled around the back of his couch, smoothing his fur-covered scrubs to calm his fidgeting. “But I don’t know of…I just see so much at the vet clinic. Substandard shelter care. Owners who don’t know and don’t care to know how to properly care for an animal. Dogs and cats thrown to the sewer. Can’t I just…can I just hold this contract in reserve until I figure out exactly what to do? I don’t know of any one place or situation just yet….”

Graves scuffed at the trodden carpet with the toe of a polished shoe, sniffing in distaste. “The terms of our contract cannot be left so open-ended. The risk is too high.”

“The risk?” Newt huffed a soft laugh. “You sound more like a businessman than a demon…”

“A contract is a contract.” Graves’ words were heavy with finality. “Name your terms, Mr. Scamander. My patience is not infinite.”

Newt exhaled deep, scrambling. Thinking under pressure was never his forte. Theseus had a much better mind for strategy, for anticipating and planning several steps ahead while making his current move. Newt had always been better at observing and adapting to the current situation. The animals always responded so much better to his approach than to others who tried to force them to conform to human expectations.

Like that time at Gnarlack’s disgusting shelter. That poor little beagle-shepherd mix huddled terrified for her life, badly stitched and so malnourished. Newt had to go into the pin to coax her out and into the carrier for transport to the clinic while the hideous shelter owner had been content to chase her out with a broom.

Now that was something. Gnarlack – and Newt couldn’t even begin to put a cultural origin on that name – operated the worst animal shelter that Newt had ever had the misfortune to visit. Some sadly underfunded shelter that treated animals as burdens instead of offering them a safe haven. No matter how many complaints Newt lodged with City Hall, the place still stayed open and still accepted strays.

Newt’s blood curdled the more he lingered over the dark and dank shelter, looking back to Graves with a hesitant resignation. “What about just one shelter? The place is absolutely atrocious, and the owner so repulsive. The animals are treated worse than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Aren’t there official channels for things like that? Offices and inquiries?”

“Yes, but I’ve lodged complaints with the City so many times. And nothing happens. Gnarlack must be too well connected with someone, but those animals are still suffering all the while.”

“Gnarlack?” Graves echoed the name, but nothing on his face changed. “That’s what you want? Permanent closure of a sleazy animal shelter?”

“Yes, I-.” Newt paused, a chill racing down his spine. Bugger. Had he just committed to the contract? But, really, it was what he wanted. He wanted that rotten place out of business forever. If Graves could make that happen where the proper city channels had failed, then that was the answer. He looked back to Graves, resolved. “Yes. I want you to permanently shut down Gnarlack’s sleazy shelter operation and ensure that he can never reopen again.”

The corner of Graves’ mouth lifted with wicked mischief. “That should be well within my purview. For the right price, of course.”

Newt gulped, nodding. “My soul, right? Seems the common price, according to the internet, at least.”

Graves didn’t quite his roll his eyes, but the sidelong glare he sent to Newt conveyed just as much annoyance and disappointment. “I tired of souls centuries ago. It’s easy to barter something that you have no concept of. But a tangible bargaining chip changes the game entirely.”

A shiver raced down Newt’s spine, suddenly glad that there was a couch between him and Graves. Nothing the demon had said so far sounded half as menacing as ‘tangible bargaining chip’. Newt shook his head, trying to think. “But I don’t have anything. Not anything of real value, anyway. Nothing tangibly precious –“

“Your virginity.” 

Heat flooded Newt's face as he stared at the floor. How…how did the demon possibly know that? It certainly wasn’t common knowledge. Not even Tina knew that he still hadn’t surrendered his v-card. Was that seriously the price to pay? To…whore himself to this demon?

A low, teasing chuckle rumbled in Graves’ throat. “I smelled it on you right away. A sweetness just begging to be devoured. That’s my price for this little do-good crusade of yours.”

Newt’s stomach twisted in knots. Goodness, but this was completely the last thing that he expected. How could he just…say yes? There was a reason he hadn’t engaged in the activity to its fullest extent. Yes, he’d done things with a couple of lovers, but he just hadn’t felt the spark, the connection, the desire to fully give himself to anyone yet.

He sighed, coughing softly to clear his throat. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to haggle on that price?”

Graves’ face lit with smug satisfaction. “Reconsidering your request now that you know the price? You have to admit, this is significantly richer now that you have a corporeal connection. And who knows - change your request and the price might change. But, otherwise? Non-negotiable.”

“But this…I didn’t ask for any of this! It’s – these rules, this contract – is completely unfair.”

“Unfair?” The demon hissed a deadly whisper as his face hardened. “Nothing about Hell is fair.”

With a frustrated breath, Newt turned from Graves. Was it worth changing his request? Perhaps if he changed to something more…harmful? Was this Graves’ punishment for Newt picking a noble cause for his demonic powers? But how could he possibly change to something that even remotely harmed other people? Especially people who didn’t deserve it. Gnarlack, on the hand, deserved everything that surely awaited him at the end of Graves’ treatment. And, really…how could Newt live with himself if he changed his request to let those animals suffer for the rest of their lives so he wouldn’t have to suffer for one night?

If it would even be one night. Surely, the demon would just do… _it_ , and then leave Newt be. And sure, it might be his first time in the physical act, but he would have plenty of other chances to make new memories. To forget the first experience happened, and find someone that he could share a meaningful, passionate experience with.

Yes. Yes, he could do this. He would do this. He raked a hand through his hair, turning back to Graves, fighting not to be unnerved by the demon’s unwavering stare. “Alright…alright. You – we have a deal.” He wiped a suddenly damp palm against his scrubs, heart racing. “You putting a permanent end to that abomination of a shelter in exchange for my…innocence.”

“Virginity.” Graves sternly corrected, eyes imploring Newt to echo it back.

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Virginity. Yes.”

Graves looked far too pleased for Newt’s comfort as he stepped forward, holding out his hand to the vet student. “I accept. We are agreed.”

Newt looked to Graves’ outstretched hand, wondering if he could bypass shaking to seal the deal. Unfortunately, he doubted he would be so lucky. Exhaling a shaky breath, Newt stepped back around the couch, holding out his hand to meet Graves’. The demon’s skin was surprisingly warm and soft, his grip firm but not painful as they shook. That’s when the burning started. Just on the underside of his wrist, a searing pain that had Newt gasping. The gasping turned to a cry as he tried to wrench his hand back from Graves, but the demon held firm, making soft shushing sounds as the burning intensified to a white, pinpoint of pain.

It vanished just as quick as it started.

Newt snatched his hand back, clutching it protectively close to his chest, gulping down air. He looked down with wide eyes, staring at the underside of his right wrist. At the black mark seared into his skin. A black mark in the distinctive shape of a scorpion. A scorpion that…not so coincidentally matched the demon’s scorpion collar pins.

Cold dread settled in Newt’s stomach. What had he done?

Graves continued to watch Newt with a possessive gleam. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Scamander. Well, maybe not entirely yet, but soon.”

Newt pulled his marked wrist closer to his chest. “H-how soon?”

“At a date and time of my choosing, remember?”

“Can’t we just…get it over with? I’d really rather not live with it hanging over my head.”

“Now that is something. Offering payment before I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. No summoner has ever been so generous.”

“Well, we’re bound by a contract now, aren’t we? Each required to hold up our ends? That’s what this mark is for, yes?” Newt flashed the scorpion mark, his lips pulling to an anxious line. “What does it matter in what order we each deliver?”

A laugh issued from Graves with a distinct air of amusement. It was obvious he laughed at Newt. Certainly not with him. “You are far more delightful than I had expected. That mark only holds you accountable to me. What’s it matter to me if I don’t deliver? I didn’t initiate the contract. No, no – if you were smart, you wouldn’t offer to pay up until you have indisputable proof that I’ve done as I said. But it’s of little matter.”

Graves swiftly closed the distance between then, crowding up close to Newt. A spicy, smokey scent, tinged with the faintest hint of sulfur, invaded Newt’s senses as he struggled to look anywhere but the molten brown eyes or the curve of the demon’s mouth. Newt pinched off a gasp when the demon leaned closer still, lips skimming the shell of his ear, breathy words hot against his skin. “You see, I’m going to take my time with you. Purity like yours deserves to be savored. But here’s the real secret.”  Newt’s head tilted instinctively, listening to Graves’ deep inhale and answering purr. “I know my form pleases you. The shape of my body, the sound of my voice. You’re going to want it. And the best part? You’re going to like it. And no matter what you think now, I’ll make sure you never, _ever_ forget.”

Lead pooled in Newt’s belly as he struggled to breathe, drowning in the demon’s words. An undeniable, excited thrill coursed through his blood at the prospect of such a promise, mixing with the fear and anxiety that churned in his stomach. He scrambled for words, to try and put together a coherent sentence. But nothing came.

Graves withdrew and moved away, looking as calm and unflappable as ever. He moved around the couch with a swish of his coat, casting another disapproving look around the flat. His gaze landed back on Newt with a smirk. “But until next time, I will simply say adieu.”

Newt’s brain sputtered, surfacing from the disorienting haze of Graves’ close presence. “Until next time? What – what about all that ‘stop wasting my time’, and ‘non-infinite patience'? And now? Now, suddenly, you have the time to string me along!?”

Graves looked back at him, a sly bewilderment on his face. Like he couldn’t believe it took Newt so long to figure something out.

Wait…just wait. Newt bit his lip, frustrated. “You were lying to me. You didn’t really have other business, and you’re…you’re not physically stuck with me. And now, I’ve got this…,” he looked to the scorpion on his wrist, scowling down at it, “this _thing_!”

“That _thing_ is how we’ll stay in touch. And you mustn’t be so quick to judge – I’m always multitasking.” Graves straightened his overcoat, not that there was any need. The demon didn’t have a hair or thread out of place. “Good day, Mr. Scamander.”

The demon disappeared in a puff of black smoke, leaving a faint trail of yellow dust raining down where he’d previously stood.

The scorpion on Newt’s wrist and his raging jumble of thoughts were the only other signs that Graves had even been there at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Hell.

Gellertonium watched the proceedings with smug glee. Why shouldn’t he? That sniveling excuse for a demon – Abernatheus – was finally getting his due. And most deservedly so.

The little demon had failed at the most basic thing. At preventing the interference of an angel in a deal gone south. It was a stain on all of their souls – literally – when an agent of Hell acted so foolishly. So, of course, it was no surprise that Prince Seraphinahepsut was not amused.

And if the prince never knew that Gellert had prevented the lesser demon from discovering the angel’s involvement, well. That suited Gellert just fine. He was plenty satisfied to watch the diminutive demon grovel before Seraphina.

“I’m not interested in your excuses, Abernatheus.” Seraphina’s voice carried through the imposing onyx chamber. Her throne adorned the front, flanked by tiered pews occupied by the lesser demonic ranks all at the beck and call of their prince. And Seraphinahepsut was most certainly a prince.

The last demon that dared refer to her as a princess had still not surfaced from hell’s deepest circle. Gellert chuckled at the dark memory.

All too unfortunately for the stammering demon in the middle of the floor, Abernatheus could be facing a similar sentence. It was no less than the demon deserved in Gellert’s opinion.

Abernatheus looked up at his prince with wide, pleading eyes, struggling to keep his bottom lip from trembling. “Please, my prince. I-I tried. The pact was sealed, the mark was made. I – there was nothing unusual about any of it. How was I supposed to know the human had already befriended an angel?”

“There are always signs.” Her gaze was cool and calm. Such a contrast to the demon nearly crumbling on the floor. “A demon of your rank should readily know and identify those signs. Perhaps…perhaps I promoted you too soon.”

Abernatheus’ eyes widened, visibly panicked. “No, ma’am. I – please! You can’t send me back down there! I’ll do better. I’ll pay more attention – I’ll –“

“You’ll do what I say. End of discussion.”

A notable hush fell over the chamber as the prince deliberated. She was one of the younger princes, but she ruled with a surprisingly iron fist, more than capable of keeping order when the lesser ranks fell out of line. Or – worse – when Heaven started to gain the upper hand.

And Gellertonium hated her. Despite her record, she was still too soft. After all, she promoted Abernatheus in the first place. A decision now that had only come back to haunt her. Gellert, on the other hand, would never even have given the demon his former rank. Let alone confer his current rank unto him.

It was truly a pity. Seraphinahepsut would make an excellent knight of his court if he didn’t have to destroy her. But there was little way around that. His days of playing nice as one of Prince Seraphinahepsut’s knights were drawing to a close. He just needed the right opportunity to present itself.

Malfoyarty shifted on the bench next to him, looking just an enraptured by the proceedings as he was. But he knew where the other demon knight’s true loyalties lay, and Malfoyarty would find herself well rewarded when Gellert's time of glory came.

Abernatheus continued to tremble as the silence stretched and the prince’s dark eyes continued to bore straight through him. It was uncanny how still she could sit on her throne, regal in her appointment and fierce in her assessment. It was about the only thing that Gellert could approve of.

She tilted her head, decision made at last. “With victory comes reward, and with failure comes punishment. Abernatheus, for your failure – you are hereby demoted.”

“Please, no!”

“You will be restored to your former rank after serving time in the second circle-"

The lesser demon fell to his knees, visibly, pathetically crying. “No, please! I beg you!”

Seraphina continued, unmoved. “After punishment and restoration, you will be confined to Hell until you prove yourself worthy of a nobler rank.”

With a slow nod of her head, two black wisps of smoke appeared on either side of the sobbing demon, slowly wrapping around his arms. This was always Gellert’s favorite part. The black smoke spread along Abernatheus’ corporeal form, dissolving the edges and eating into the body. The demon cried out, feebly struggling as his body disintegrated, reduced to the disembodied mist of his soul that better suited confinement to Hell.

The last of his cries died in the stone chamber as the mist and smoke disappeared, the sentinels more than capable of escorting the demon for punishment on their own. A low murmur rose in the aftermath, knights and lesser demons conversing in soft tones. Discussing the failure. Discussing the punishment. Discussing the next order of business.

With a satisfied sigh, Gellert pushed to his feet, straightening his jacket. He didn’t need to look behind him to know that Malfoyarty followed suit. She had only attended these proceedings for the same reason that he had.

And now that the Abernatheus business was well and truly closed, he could turn his attention to other matters.

“You might try to do a better job of hiding that you disapprove of Seraphina’s punishment.” Malfoyarty’s words were soft in the corridor.

“I don’t disapprove that she punished him. But the second circle is far too generous. Letting an agent of Heaven slip through his fingertips is easily deserving of the fifth circle. If not the sixth.”

Malfoyarty chuckled a snide sound. “And that is why, when your day comes – Hell shall reign supreme.”

Gellert preened on the thought. “All in due time, my dear. All in due time.” He knew the merits of waiting better than most. His patience for springing traps held a legendary status, and by the time he was a Prince of Hell, everyone would see just how long he’d played the game to seize control. And it would be the sweetest victory of his millennia long, tortured existence.

“The sooner, the better,” Malfoyarty mused, “the angels laugh at us – and they should. With buffoons like Abernatheus on the loose.”

“Yes. The first order of business will be a swift housekeeping.”

Well, the second order of business, perhaps. The first would have to be killing Seraphinahepsut - for good. There was no place for her in his world. Then, he would deal with Percivalatious.

His lip curled to an unbidden snarl at the thought of the other demon knight. Dear ol’ Percy. Seraphina’s right-hand knight, and all around pain in Gellert’s ass. He was older than Gellert, and admittedly powerful, but poisoned by Seraphina's talk of moderation. Or was he? Gellert had never heard Percival express his own sentiments on Seraphina’s views.

Maybe there was a chance to turn him to Gellert’s cause. Percival would make a formidable ally.

Unfortunately, the taught coil in his gut told him that he would likely have to destroy Percival, as well.

Oh well. It would make no difference at the end of the day. Gellertonium would see Hell restored to dominion over all and no one would stand in his way.

“…going back to terra?” Malfoyarty’s words drifted back to him, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Yes, I think so.” Gellert mused distantly. “I’ve a horse owner in Kentucky. Has promised me anything to guarantee his horse wins the Triple Crown next year.”

His companion's face contorted with a sly smile. “How wonderful for you. Have you taken him up on it yet?”

“Of course. We have a preliminary pact, but payment has yet to be fully satisfied. And, of course, there’s the pesky matter of their human calendar.”

“Of course.” She sounded just as bored as he did. “Lestrangeian’s pact will keep her on terra for far longer than she bargained for. Something with crop failure, I believe. Tedious. And dirty. I also heard that Percivalatious has extended his stay. Seraphina expected him back soon, but of course, she’ll indulge him.”

Gellert shuddered. “Of course, she will. It’s disgusting, quite frankly. What’s his excuse this time?”

“Took on another pact. Though, this one sounded unplanned.”

“They’re all unplanned.”

Malfoyarty’s face pinched with irritation. “He sounded more hesitant about this one.”

Gellert stopped in his tracks, turning to face her with a curious scowl. “You actually overheard him?”

Malfoyarty scowled back at him. “You might do well to attend to Seraphina more often. Surprises are always turning up when she’s in session.”

“What’s the nature of the pact?”

“You’re not going to like it. Seraphina barely allowed it. That was why he came. To head her off at the pass – to assure her that he has the situation managed.”

Gellert fought to reign in his irritation. “Just tell me.”

Malfoyarty gave a sad shake of her head. “He’s taking out an animal shelter, but sparing the animals.”

Gellert suddenly had the urge to vomit but his voice stayed soft, heavy with infinite disappointment. “Oh, Percy. Such a shame going soft like that.” The rival knight used to be so strong, fierce, and commanding. It was truly sad how far he’d fallen. “And Seraphina’s letting him…”

“She is. It’s an absolute disgrace to all demon-kind, letting a demon of his stature degrade himself so.”

“There better be some rich payment.”

“Virginity.”

Gellert barked a laugh. “Shame on Percy. Doesn’t he know that he needs to share with the rest of us?” What an utter mess. Such a self-indulgent, utterly worthless pact. It did nothing to further Hell’s prominence, and as a Knight of Hell, Percivalatious should be concerned with far greater matters. Indulging some human over animals in exchange for a fuck was infinitely beneath Gellert’s greatest rival.

He turned to Malfoyarty, the beginnings of a plan formulating in his brain. “Well, we may just have to do something about that. Did you happen to overhear where he is, my dear?”

Her lips curled with a sly, evil edge. “What sort of general would I be if I failed you, my prince? New York City.”

“Perfect.” Gellert licked his lips, his earlier satisfaction returning. “Just perfect.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are the best tonic.

The blaring alarm roused Newt from his deep sleep. Fumbling for his phone, he switched it off, yawning as he scrubbed his right hand over his face. The black scorpion was a smudge to his bleary morning vision, but the demon’s presence hung like a heavy weight since his departure.

It had been two days since he accidentally summoned the demon Graves to his side. It had been two days since he shook the demon’s hand on a deal to trade saving animals for his virginity. Two days of that damnable mark on his wrist mocking him. And two days of wondering just exactly when Graves would return.

Newt had never believed in worrying much. Especially when there was nothing he could do about the situation. Why suffer twice? But, admittedly, this whole episode had him a bit on edge.

He rolled over to scratch between Niffler’s ears, snuggling closer to the gray cat curled up next to him on the comforter. Niffler purred louder at the contact, leaning into Newt’s hand. “You’re lucky, you know. You don’t have to worry about patients, or paying rent. Or demons that want to defile you. If all I had to worry about was whether that big white oaf would chase me around today or not, life would probably be a lot simpler.”

Niffler stretched out, meowing softly and soaking up being the sole focus of Newt’s attention. It happened so infrequently.

His bedroom door squeaked open, followed by the plodding of heavy feet. Without any additional warning, Dougal jumped up onto the bedcovers, and suddenly, Newt’s double-bed was way too small. “Good morning, Dougal.” Newt grunted, shifting closer to Niffler, watching her scowl as he bumped her, disturbing her lounging. A wet tongue slurped up the side of his face as Dougal hovered over him. Ever since Graves snarled whatever it was he said to the dog, Dougal had been incredibly clingy. While Newt enjoyed the affection, it was starting to get bloody annoying having a 45-plus kilo dog wanting to act as a lapdog.

He indulged in a few more minutes of cuddling his furry companions before forcing himself to rise and go about his morning routine. Everyone needed to be fed. The paper in Frank’s cage needed refreshing, as did Niffler’s litter. And, bugger, he would need to go by the pet shop for crickets after clinicals. Pickett and the others had no stomach for spiders.

After running a toothbrush across his teeth, throwing on a pair of navy scrubs over a long sleeve t-shirt, running a hand through his hair and walking Dougal, he wished everyone a good day and set out towards campus.

He liked to think that he lived close enough-ish to campus. Close enough to walk on a nice day, but just a little too far if the weather was foul. The bitter wind that bit at his cheeks as he exited his building made him think twice about walking, but ultimately he just pulled his blue coat tighter around him and snuggled down into the gray and yellow knit scarf.

He knew the wind would have his face and ears resembling a tomato by the time he reached the vet school clinic, and he was right. But mercifully the discomfort never lasted, and he set about making the rounds to the overnight patients, welcoming new arrivals, and doing what he loved best. Caring for other creatures, seeing the wagging tails, and helping give them a long, healthy life. Truly, this was as close as he came to forgetting the concerns of his personal life. And, truly, the concerns of his personal life would culminate in the rescue of all those animals from Gnarlack’s clutches.

Hmm, would he have any warning before Graves did…whatever it was he was going to do? Newt would need to make arrangements for all those animals. Either have another shelter lined up, or allocate some room at the vet clinic. Or would that be too suspicious? That was a whole new angle Newt hadn’t even considered. Would Graves use a legal means to shut Gnarlack down? Did demons even worry about trifles like legality?

Loathe as he was to admit it, another conversation with the demon would go a long way. Especially now that he was accustomed to the idea of a demon in his life. Especially now that he had resigned himself to the scorpion mark on his wrist. But how could he possibly contact Graves? He’d said the mark was largely so the demon could keep tabs of Newt. And even if the mark could be used to reach Graves, Newt didn’t have the first clue how to go about it.

His phone pinged in his pocket and he reached for it, swiping his hair from his eyes.

_No bailing on me for lunch today, Scamander_

He smiled down at Tina’s text, quickly typing out a response.

_Wouldn’t dream of it. Looking very forward to it_

It wasn’t often that he got to see his best friend in the city. Tina’s determined pursuit of her criminal justice degree kept her largely sequestered in the buildings on the opposite side of campus, but ever since she helped him run down a renegade Dougal across the campus green, they’d always made time for each other. Briefly, Tina had been interested in more than friendship, but fortunately, that had faded without Newt having to get too explicit. She understood him well enough, and that fact alone was still strange to Newt.

Human relationships were not a strong suit, so needless to say, it startled him when Tina took an instant liking to him. It startled him even more when her sister latched onto him, introduced him to Jacob and insisted that he think of them all as family.

It was all so incredibly sweet and flattering. And, truly, he’d never felt more privileged.

Tina’s text pinged immediately.

_…? Is everything alright? Are you ok?_

_Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. Been a long week and friendly faces will be a good tonic_

The response must have satisfied her, and before he knew it, he trudged across campus, bundled up in his coat and scarf once again, stomach rumbling at the prospect of lunch.

“Hiya, Newt.” Tina’s smile was tired, echoed in the dark circles under her eyes as she embraced him.

“Goodness, Tina,” Newt pulled back with mild concern, “you look absolutely exhausted.”

She waved him off as she shrugged out her coat. “Nothing I can’t handle. Everyone knows that FBI agents run on coffee and stress.”

His lips quirked in a small smile of admiration. “It’s great that you’re pursuing what you love, but you should still remember to take care of yourself.”

Queenie’s bubbly voice drifted over his shoulder. “Thank you, Newt! That’s what I’ve been telling her. Yeah, she can be Ms. Career-Girl, but she shouldn’t lose sight of herself in the process.”

Tina rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing telltale. “Oh, please stop it you two. I’m fine, really. Believe me – after my last class today, I am going home to crash.”

Queenie cast her sister a dubious eye. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She rounded on Newt with a blinding smile and a bounce of her blond curls. “Hi, honey. I hope the animals are well. I do miss Dougal’s sweet face in these cold months.”

He met Queenie’s warm hug before shrugging out of his coat and taking a seat. “They’re well, thank you. Dougal doesn’t much like these cold months, either. He’s not a fan of staying so cooped up.”

“Aw, poor baby,” the blonde pouted sympathetically, “I’ll have to drop by and surprise him sometime but schedule it with you first. Just don’t tell him.” She winked playfully, drawing a soft chuckle from her sister.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jacob’s jovial voice drifted over the table as he approached, smile wide and bearing a tray laden with food.

Queenie launched out of her seat, embracing her boyfriend as Tina, ever the pragmatist, took the full tray. Kowalski’s truly had the best sandwiches and pastries in the city in Newt’s opinion, and blessedly, it was only a few blocks from campus. Jacob had welcomed the addition of Newt to lunches with the sisters, and often remarked how pleased he was to have another dude’s opinion available.

Not that Newt really felt like much of a dude, but Jacob always insisted. And Jacob was always able to make time for them during the busy lunch rush.

Tina wasted no time, slathering her ham sandwich with extra mustard. “How’s Joe working out for you?” She cast a glance at the blonde-haired man behind the counter serving the current customer with a smile.

Jacob shrugged casually, taking a seat next to Queenie. “Enh, he plays nice with others, but his punctuality needs some improvement.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. He’s always late for class. Professor Jones has nearly threatened to lock him out if he can’t get his act together.” She took a bite, words distorted around the sandwich. “When he said he was looking for a job on the side, I almost didn’t recommend him to you.”

Queenie giggled as she handed Jacob his sandwich. “Even then, I don’t think ‘recommend’ is quite the right word. You were so desperate for relief, sweetie. It wouldn’t do for you have a heart-attack before forty.”

“Of course not, honey.” Jacob looked to Queenie with a reassuring smile. “I would never do that to you. Or myself.” He tucked into the pastrami on rye, a blush on his cheeks at Queenie’s mirrored smile.

“Here you go, Newt.” Queenie reached out with his plate and he reached with his right hand, the long sleeve of his shirt pulling up before he could stop it.

Jacob’s eyes bugged wide. “Whoa, dude! Since when did you get a tattoo?”

“A tattoo?” Tina’s gaze zeroed in on Newt. “You...you don’t have a tattoo?”

“Oh my gosh! A scorpion?” Queenie flashed Newt a daring, playful smile as her eyes drifted up from his wrist. “Never knew a passionate bad boy lurked beneath the demure exterior!”

Newt snatched the plate back, cheeks flaming as he quickly pulled at his sleeve. “It’s...it’s nothing. Just a temporary thing.”

“A temporary thing?” Jacob laughed hesitantly. “What...like, you lost a bet or something?”

“Yeah, something.” Newt shook his head, a quick furtive movement. It sounded good enough. He didn’t know for sure if he was allowed to talk about his deal with Graves, but he somehow doubted it. “It’s no big deal, really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Tina continued to stare at him, a smudge of mustard on her upper lip, clearly not buying it. “Let me see it, Newt. Come on. Queenie and Jacob already did.”

He wanted to protest. Queenie and Jacob, though he loved them dearly, didn’t possess the ever questioning cop-attitude instinct that Tina did. She wouldn’t let this rest until she was satisfied, and if she had to annoy Newt in the process, it mattered little.

He sighed, extending his wrist and bunching up his sleeve. Tina squinted at the black mark, leaning over the table to get a better look. Her forehead wrinkled. “That doesn’t look temporary. Your skin’s irritated around it.”

Newt quickly pulled his arm back, looking down to his sandwich. “Just a reaction to the ink, I suppose. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Who’d you lose the bet to?” She pressed. “Cause it certainly wasn’t one of us.”

Newt sighed, annoyance prickling along skin. “No, it wasn’t. And while I do appreciate your protectiveness - I know it’s born out of a desire to help - please trust me to make my own decisions. He’s just a guy I’ve been seeing -.” Oh bugger, that didn’t come out right at all. Especially not judging by the way all three of his lunch companion’s eyebrows climbed to their hairlines.

Queenie looked full to bursting. “A guy you’ve been seeing? Oh honey, why didn’t you say anything! I’m so happy for you! Do we get to meet him soon?”

Well, maybe this was better. Telling little white lies about his supposed paramour would distract from awkward questions about the tattoo. “Um, no, I don’t think we’re quite there yet- as far as meeting friends goes. We sort of just started...seeing each other. It’s still new.”

Jacob looked up, licking his lips after a bite with a supportive smile. “Well, that’s great, man. I’m happy for you. The fella better understand how to treat you right.”

Tina’s eyes hadn’t lost the suspicious edge. “That’s exactly my concern. You say it’s still new, yet you’re already wearing a temporary tattoo from a lost bet with him? It sounds all sorts of wrong and creepy...and kinky.”

“Oh, Teenie,” Queenie groaned with a glare over at her sister, “let Newt be. What he does in the privacy of his own bedroom is not your business. He’s smart enough to know when it’s not consensual.”

Tina looked back to Newt, eyes pinched with concern. “Just promise me that it is consensual - that you’re totally agreeable with...whatever games you’re playing with this guy, then I’ll leave it alone. I swear.”

Newt swallowed, nodding stiffly. “It is. I’m not...being forced into anything. It’s my choice.” And mostly, it was true. He had willingly taken the demon’s hand agreeing to the price. He knew what he had signed up for. At least, he was pretty sure he knew. “And, if it starts to go a direction that I’m not comfortable with, I promise I’ll break it off. And if the man doesn’t back down, trust me, Tina - you’re my first call.”

Queenie smirked around a bite, clearly satisfied. “There you have it, Teenie. And now - I want details! What’s his name?”

Newt scoured his brain. Fabricating stories on the spot wasn't easy. “His name’s...Colin.”

“Colin. A nice name,” Queenie lowered her voice conspiratorially, “and how handsome are we talking?”

At least this was something Newt didn’t have to fabricate. He could clearly see the image of Graves - the expertly fitted overcoat over broad shoulders, the styled angles of his tie knot and collar pins under such deeply rich eyes. “Devilishly handsome.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percivalatious gets to work.

Percivalatious generally didn’t mind being on terra. Human society had become far more interesting since the days when he was alive. It had been particularly interesting to watch the upstart American colonies form their own government and expand across the continent, exploding into a formidable world power. They were making a right mess of things now, by his way of thinking, but such destruction brought plenty of opportunity. He wasn’t about to complain.

He didn’t even see a reason to complain about his most recent pact. Hell would still get a soul and he would make the world a little less innocent. A win all around, even if he did have to deal with saving the animals.

He approached the rundown building with mild disinterest. Come to think of it, had he ever been concerned with actually sparing lives? Most of what he did revolved around maximizing collateral damage. He knew it, and Seraphinahepsut knew it. But even she had a mischievous side and didn't begrudge him. He was afforded so few corporeal pleasures, after all.

The chipped concrete stairs lead into a woeful lobby lit with a buzzing, sterile light. A quick glance around showed hard plastic chairs against one wall, amalgamated and petrified furballs along the baseboards, and greasy, fingerprints smudged over the glass top counter. Percival’s face hardened as he took in the surroundings.

Even by human standards, this place was deplorable.

“Hey - hey there, mistah.” A deep, gravelly voice called out of the shadows from behind the counter as a man ambled into view. Easily overweight, balding and several days removed from a razor with a roughly chewed cigar between his teeth - the man presented a slovenly, uninviting image. “You, uh - you lookin’ for something?”

Percival stared back, purposefully drawing out the silence. Humans always found pauses so awkward. Their responses were always so telling - twitching, stammering, repeating - they all told him something about the person without having to exert himself. This man, however, stood stark still and met Percival's gaze without hesitation. Clearly, this man wanted to project toughness, dominance, control.

Good. Men like him were far more fun to destroy.

The corner of Percival's mouth lifted. “Gnarlack, I presume?”

The man’s thinning brows narrowed over a frown. “Who’s asking?”

“I am.” Percival turned without waiting for a response, glancing up at the stained ceiling tiles before scanning the room again. He could practically feel Gnarlack vibrating with anger. Such a satisfying sensation. He faced back to Gnarlack after his casual assessment, drinking in the man’s fuming scowl.

Gnarlack chomped his cigar harder, words deformed. “And you are?”

“Your death.” There wasn’t a need to lie. If Gnarlack was here alone, he wouldn’t see another soul before he entered Hell. And if there was someone lurking in the back, well, then Gnarlack wouldn’t be going alone.

Gnarlack squinted, brow furrowing as if trying to decide if it was a joke. Humans weren’t used to being confronted with the brutal truth in Percival's experience. They were quick to jump to any other conclusion except the obvious.

“My death, huh?” Gnarlack sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “That’s some fancy talk, for sure. Who sent ya? Mick? Val? Are the boys tryin' to be funny?” He chuckled, pulling the cigar from his mouth, dropping his bloodshot eyes down Percival's body. “You look like a fucking fag-daddy in that suit and fancy overcoat. Is it my birthday, hmm? You sent here to give me a show or suck my cock? Not that I’d let you...you got too much junk between your legs for my taste.”

Time to move things along. Percival reached out with his will, surging against Gnarlack’s mind. He could sense the notably weak will of the shelter owner, but slammed up against a barrier - a force stopping him from assuming Gnarlack’s will until himself.

Gnarlack roared with laughter, eyes suddenly wide. “Oh, this is even bettah! You know, when Vladimir said to get an anti-demon tattoo, I thought the man was totally wack. I mean - a tattoo that keeps a fuckin’ demon from possessing you? Whoever heard of that shit?! But, holy fuck - you just proved him right!”

Percival nodded curtly. “You are full of surprises, Gnarlack.”

The man chuckled another smug, victorious sound, returning the cigar to his mouth. “As are you! I knew there was something not right about you - but I’ll honestly take you being a demon over being a gay escort.” Gnarlack laughed again, still pleased at his own humor. “But I do gotta say, for a demon, you’re, uh - you’re pretty pathetic. You can’t even possess me. Fuck, you’s probably can’t even hurt me. I’m protected!” He thumped against his chest, over his heart. Right where Percival could almost see a faint outline of a black circle and pentagram through the man’s thin, cheap shirt.

The demon sighed, tilting his head in consideration. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” His hand moved at his side in a quick gesture, fingers contorting as if squeezing an imaginary object.

Gnarlack’s face erupted in agony, curses flying from his mouth as the cigar fell forgotten to the floor. “Son of a bitch! Fuckin’ shit!” He pawed at his crotch, doubling over with a grunted squeal of pain as Percival drew his fingers in ever steadily. “Fuckin’ _bastard_! Not my cock...you can’t...you can’t!”

“Now I know what you must be thinking,” Percival kept his voice quiet and calm, face blank as he took a couple of steps forward, “why not go for your brain, or your heart - gouge your eyes out, perhaps.” He paused, listening to other man groan through agonized breaths as he tightened his grip. “But let’s not kid each other - there’s only one organ you care about.”

Gnarlack’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, curling into a ball on himself as the pain continued. “Shit, please - please! You’re gonna tear it off! And you can’t - fuckin’ please, God-.”

“He can’t save you right now. I’m afraid I’m the best you’ve got.” Percival stared down at the writhing man, squeezing harder and listening to the answering howl. It had been a long time since he’d needed to resort to bodily torture. There was such an old-fashioned simplicity about it.

“Alright...alright.” Gnarlack’s voice came out weak and strained, teeth gritted against the pain. “Alright! Will you just stop? Please?!”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

“I don’t care!” Gnarlack whined, clawing at the dirty floor. “I”ll give you anything - anyone. Just…just make it stop.”

Percival paused for the space of a breath as he continued to regard the formerly so-proud man reduced to such a pathetic mess at his feet. “Very well.” He loosened the position of his hand, waving his fingers free of the hold.

Gnarlack drew a sobbing intake of breath, overcome with relief. He trembled against the floor, stretching out. “You...fuckin’ bastard….”

“I suggest you be more respectful and stop making me wait.” Percival moved farther behind the counter, toeing at the man on the floor. “Come on, get up. You mentioned names...I need to know more, and you’re going to show me your records.”

“I...I ain’t got no records.”

Percival flicked his wrist in a quick motion and Gnarlack’s head slammed against the linoleum floor with an audible crack. “Lie to me again, and I’ll make you a truly dickless coward.”

Gnarlack groaned, grimacing. “Alright...alright...just. Gotta gimme a second...for fuck’s sake.” He feebly pushed up in an attempt to sit, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “Man, my head...and my cock...how am I supposed to remember anything…” With a tenuous grip on the back of the grubby counter chair, he slowly pulled himself, heaving with the effort. He leaned heavily against the counter, breathing unevenly. “You’ll….God dammit - records are located second drawer down. On the desk.”

With a sweep of black fabric, Percival turned towards the desk, throwing the second drawer open with a twist of his wrist. The results were disappointing. Animal records, supply inventories, medical service receipts. Nothing that ensured the permanent shutdown of this facility. And Percival always honored the terms of his pacts. He snapped the ledger shut. “Foolish of you, Gnarlack. We both know you’re better connected than just strays and their medical history.”

The man shook his head, still recovering as he braced against the counter. “I can’t – ain’t got nothing that you can see.”

“More’s the pity for you. If I can’t extract what I need from your mind, then you better hope there’s sufficient evidence around here.” Percival turned with a casual air, looking around at the other furniture – filing cabinets, another desk, and a door with a glass window that lead into the back of the building. He stepped more into the dingy space, peering through the window at the animal cages beyond. Minimal light shone in the putrid area, dark shadows moving and huddling in chain link confinements. He turned back towards Gnarlack, patience exhausted.

Gnarlack sighed heavily. “Look, it’s like I told you –.” The man’s words cut off in a pained howl, collapsing against the counter. A meaty fist slammed against the counter, struggling through the pain as Percival continued to tighten his phantom grip. With a movement of his other hand, the bones in Gnarlack’s right foot snapped and the heavy man fell to the ground. Blood splattered the linoleum, a crunch echoing from the man’s nose as he howled in pain. 

As an added incentive, Percival reached out to the man’s ribs, forcing them to tighten around the vital organs, a vice of compression to squeeze the life from him. “Tell me,” Percival's voice was calm over the man’s agony, “is this worse than what they’ll do to you if you tell me what I want to know? You said a name – Vladimir – and I know Russians aren’t generally known to be forgiving. But if you don’t have a cock, then will you really care?”

Gnarlack cried out, clawing at the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks to mix with the blood from his nose and mouth. “Fi-Filing…cabinet,” he wheezed through the cage around his lungs, “b-b-bottom….”

Percival let go the hold on the man’s ribs, dropping to a crouch for the filing cabinet bottom drawer. A blood red ledger lay buried under endless stacks of manila folders. And it told him everything. Names. Drops. Shipments. He supposed it made sense – strays were always coming and going, so why not smuggled goods, too? It was far more unassuming than other operations, and nothing he saw was big time. But it proved the point – Gnarlack was just a cog on the wheel. Break off the cog and another can take its place. But stop the wheel altogether? Now, that was something else entirely.

He flipped the pages, taking in the names and locations he needed as he released his hold on Gnarlack. The man slumped with relief across the room, uncoiling, watching Percival. Without warning, the ledger caught fire in the demon's hands, the pages curling black and turning to ash.

“No!” Gnarlack sputtered in rage. “No – that…they…they need that.”

“No, they don’t.” Percival lowered his hands as the rest of the ledger disintegrated and the hellfire dissolved back within him. “Not anymore, at any rate.” His shoes clicked against the floor as he approached, staring down at the shaking man. “Loathe as I am to do it, however, I do have more binding obligations to keep.”

“You fuckin’ bastard….You don’t think….That they’re gonna know? They always know! And…and, now you’ve…completely fucked me!” Gnarlack pursed his lips, lobbing a mouthful of blood to splatter perfectly on the toe of Percival's shoe.

He didn’t even need to move his hand. His hold seized on Gnarlack’s heart, squeezing, gripping, pressing. It didn’t take long for the tissue to yield. It never did.

Gnarlack didn’t even have time to scream before his heart burst in his chest and he slumped against the floor, lifeless. A black mist crept up through the floor, slowly wrapping around the body, dissolving the corporeal remains for the journey. Percival’s lips lifted as the last of the man’s face was consumed. “As promised, Sera.”

He turned without another thought, pushing through the door to the area of caged animals. The pungent smell of unwashed odor and stale excrement assaulted him as he breezed through the space. Snarls, barks and hisses greeted him but they were easy enough to tune out. He reached out for the door at the back of the room, stepping out into the dark alley. Glancing at the surrounding buildings, he noted lights, full trashcans, and other signs of frequent activity.

This should do the trick. He reached for the gas line entering the shelter, dissolving the fitting with a flash of flame and pulling the pipe free. The smell of home invaded his nose, a tug of satisfaction at his lips. That should get the surrounding neighbors’ attention. Well, that, and the sound of barking, hissing animals seeping out the open backdoor of the shelter.

He stepped away from the scene, melting into the dark shadows. It was time to go to Siberia, after all. Time to ensure the permanent closure of this place. Time to bring his end of the deal to a close. Then, he could focus on payment. On wanting to savor the sensations of Newt shattering beneath him. To hear Newt’s moans as he filled him. To taste him as he came.

Percival hadn’t tasted anything so promisingly sweet in ages.

With a whiff of sulfur and puff of black smoke, he left the alley behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date from Hell - literally, that's where he comes from.

“Dougal, please. You know very well that I have to unlock the door before you can go in.” The big white dog, of course, paid no attention to Newt’s words, instead continuing to plow into the still closed door.

Juggling his gloves, Dougal’s leash, and his flat keys was no small feat, but he managed. He sighed pleasantly, the heat of his little flat chasing away the chill from his nose and cheeks as the door closed behind him. Dougal bounded across the living room, happy to rid of his tether. The sounds of a large tongue slurping water filled the small room.

Frank tweeted from his cage in the corner, a happy little tune that brought a smile to Newt’s face. “Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Frank.” He moved over to the bird’s cage, filling the small food dish with seed. The yellow bird chirped excitedly from his perch, ruffling his feathers in anticipation as Newt slid open the cage door and placed the small dish down.

Newt smiled softly as he watched the bird alight down to the dish, pecking at the seed. It didn’t seem like nearly a year had passed since Newt found the wounded little bird outside the campus subway station. He didn’t know if Frank had previously been a pet who lost his way or not, but he’d taken surprisingly well to the cage. Newt huffed a fond, quiet laugh. “You just like the free meals, don’t you? And the cozy surroundings.”

Frank continued to peck away, paying Newt no mind. With another glance, Newt turned away from the cage, flipping on the under-counter lights in his kitchen. Now, to focus on the real issue at hand. What was he going to eat for dinner? His job at the campus vet clinic didn’t pay much to start with, and after providing for everyone else, he often found himself left with few options but it didn’t bother him. It was a great comfort to know his animals were well cared for.

He reached for a glass, stepping over to the fridge water dispenser. If he recalled right, there was still some milk left in the fridge. Perhaps a bowl of cereal would do the trick. Or maybe there was a frozen dinner in the freezer. He pulled the full glass back, taking a healthy drink. The liquid felt good against his winter-wind parched throat.

He turned from the fridge and the glass slipped from his hand at the sight.

Graves sat, dark and ominous, on a counter stool. He flicked his wrist with an elegant motion as Newt braced for the impact of shattering glass on his floor...an impact that never came. With wide eyes, Newt looked down to see his glass suspended in the air, watching dumbfounded as it floated up to rest on the counter. Newt could only stare at it in a mix of startled and confused fascination. At length, he licked his lips. “Thank you.”

A low rumble - it might have been a chuckle - sounded across the kitchen. “You’re welcome.”

Newt bristled. “Although, next time, I’d prefer it if you knocked.”

“A trivial matter of no concern to me.”

“Then why are you here?” Newt resolutely refused to look at his demon intruder. He would have preferred to retain the peaceful solitude of his evening than have it so violated by an unannounced visitor.

“I’m here to take you to dinner.”

Despite his better judgement, Newt swung his head around to regard at the demon with an incredulous stare. Unfortunately, the demon looked ever so suave under the low kitchen lights, his dark eyes and mouth alight with an enigmatic edge. It softened his countenance in an unspeakably flattering, disarming way.                               

Newt shook his head, unable to believe he heard right. “I beg your pardon…dinner? You said dinner...? As in – sharing a meal together.”

“That’s generally how it happens.”

“But how – that’s not part of our arrangement.” Newt suddenly felt very awkward, gesturing aimlessly to expend nervous energy. “If this is you playing with me – taking your time, as it were – as you said. Then, really you needn’t bother. I’d really rather you not wine and dine me, or seduce me. That won’t help the…situation.”

Graves lifted a brow, amusement evident in his dark eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about how I seduce people, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt.” He challenged, sharply. “It’s Newt, please. I’ve told you before.”

The demon inclined his dead, allowing the concession. “Very well, Newt. Will you have dinner with me?”

“Not until you tell me why. Why should I? And I want an answer! A straight answer, please. You proved yourself untrustworthy last meeting – our first meeting – and I won’t be duped again.” Newt’s heart thundered in his chest, surprised at his own boldness. Especially in the face of such an effortlessly powerful presence. But, dammit, he wanted answers. 

But as the silence stretched on, panic began to gnaw at him. Had he said too much? Had he pushed Graves too far? Graves who still sat silently at his kitchen counter, regarding Newt like one would a petulant child, but his look carried a strange hint of respect. Was…was Graves impressed?

The demon cocked his head, the light catching in the gray streaks of his hair. “You summoned me with minimal effort. That’s no easy feat. You clearly possess an innate inclination towards the supernatural, but you don’t know the first thing about it. That piques my interest.”

Newt felt a flush bloom in his cheeks, fidgeting nervously with his sleeve, watching the corner of Graves’ mouth tick up. “Aren’t we….I mean, don’t we have to stick to the terms of our contract? Of course, I’d be fascinated to learn more about you and your…world. But I’m not – there’s little worth knowing about me.” He wasn’t anything special. He was just…Newt.

“I’m allowed to do more on terra than just execute pact terms,” Graves quipped with wry air, turning on the counter stool, “and don’t be so quick to sell yourself short. You might be surprised at the opportunities it affords. Now, go change.”

“Change?” Newt plucked at his scrubs, self-conscious. “I haven’t agreed to have dinner with you.”

“You said not until I told you why. I told you why. Now, I do suggest you hurry.” Graves spun the rest of the way on the stool, sliding effortlessly off. The light played off the fine black fabric of his overcoat, the sleeve teasing the pristine white seam as it ran down to meet the flared cuff.

Newt swallowed, all earlier feelings of boldness squashed. He would have to be much more careful how he phrased things.

He hurried to his bedroom, closing the door and throwing the pitiful lock. Yes, he knew that Graves could just pop into his bedroom without a care for the door or walls. But it was still mildly comforting to have the illusion of control over the situation. That didn’t stop him from imaging Graves’ amused chuckle in the room beyond, though.

But this was certainly more stress that he didn’t need. How could anything in his closet possibly hope to compete with the demon’s crisp suit? Hopefully the restaurant wouldn’t be too fancy. His student budget could only afford so much, and his animals needed to eat, too. After lengthy debate, he settled on slim-fit charcoal slacks, a light blue striped shirt and a navy pullover sweater. Mum always said blue was his best color. He ran a wet hand through his hair, trying to tame his curls, and threw on a spritz of cologne. None of it for the demon’s benefit, of course. He just didn’t want restaurant patrons complaining about a hobo who smelled like a kennel.

He flicked the lock on his door, steeling himself. It was just dinner. Somewhere in public. Presumably…although, bugger, he hadn’t actually clarified. Surely, Graves wouldn’t take him somewhere to…have _him_ for dinner. And Newt did mean that in the biblical sense.

A fresh wave of weariness washed through him as he stepped back into the living room, shuffling to get his overcoat. In passing, he noted that Graves’ back was turned towards him, gazing out the window. It wasn’t a good view, but he obviously must have found something to interest him. 

“Would it relax you to know that I’m not going to fuck you tonight?” Graves’ voice was velvety soft, strangely soothing.

It made Newt pause for a breath, surprisingly relieved to find that yes, it did sort of help. But was he really about to admit that to Graves? Even animals knew better to not expose their weaknesses to predators. “Didn’t you say I needed to hurry?”

“Indeed I did.” The concession came across on Graves’ words, but the look in his eyes was far too shrewd. He didn’t need Newt to answer the former question to know the answer. Goodness, Graves could probably read it in the flush coloring his cheeks.

With a quick farewell to his pets, Newt shrugged on his coat with a determined air. If he was going to have dinner with Graves, then he was darn well going to get the answers he wanted. They did have a contract, after all. Newt should be more than allowed to learn the whens, whys, and hows it was going to go down. Arrangements had to be made for the animals, after all.

He followed Graves down the creaking stairs and out into the blustery evening. He’d expected the demon to again summon a cab, but he stopped short at the sight of a sleek, gleaming black car idling at the curb. Newt didn’t know the first thing about cars, but it looked expensive. A true luxury brand. The driver emerged from the front, walking around towards the backdoor as Graves approached, not pausing his long stride.

This…this cost serious money. Just last week, the demon made no moves to pay for their outrageous cab fare. And now - now there was a chauffeured vehicle? Newt’s eyes narrowed to a suspicious glare as he stared after the demon, just hearing the driver’s ‘Mr. Graves, sir’ mumbled over the sound of the opening door. The demon disappeared into the car’s interior and the chauffeur looked to Newt expectantly with a polite expression.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

The car’s interior was outfitted in a buttery leather and plush seats, the air pleasantly warm against the outside chill. A soft blue light washed over them as the chauffeur closed the door and Newt could think of nothing to say. Except the obvious. “This is expensive. Far more so than that cab from IKEA.”

Graves turned his head, the low light pooling in his dark eyes with a dreamy edge. “My treat.”

“Now that makes absolutely no sense,” Newt ducked his head with a small shake, “how could a demon possibly maintain a bank accou-.” He stopped short as the driver door opened and the chauffeur took his seat.

“You needn’t worry about him.” Graves’ voice was eerily melodious as the car pulled away from the curb. “He won’t remember anything come morning.”

Newt’s eyes widened, glancing at the front seat. “You mean...he’s – you’re…controlling him? Or bewitched him?”

“I told you I’m always multi-tasking.”

A sick feeling rotted in Newt’s gut. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr. Graves. Knowing that we’re out at the expense…I mean. What is he going to tell his boss in the morning when he has no payment or proof of the job?”

“You really shouldn’t let it be your concern.”

“But how can I just look the other way when you’re threatening this man’s job? What if…what if he has a family who depends on him?”

“What if Gnarlack has a family who depends on him?” Graves’ voice cut cold across the seat. “It’s no different.”

“Sure, it is. He – he mistreats those poor, defenseless animals.”

“Who don’t have jobs and families to feed.”

“But that’s…completely in a different league than this.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe this chauffeur company only caters to the arms dealers, drug lords, and rich elite who rob from the poor to gild their own bank accounts.”

Newt glared over, brows knit tight together. “You’re mocking me now, and I do not appreciate it.”

Graves chuckled softly, face contorting with a smug grin. “Well, it doesn’t become you to be so hypocritical. Taking a man’s livelihood away is taking a man’s livelihood away, no matter how you justify it. But you needn’t let it ruin dinner.” A dark shadow crossed his face as his lips pinched to a tight, disgusted line. “Rest assured that for each chauffeur and waitstaff I bend to my will, there is an angel out there helping an old woman across the street or feeding orphans.”

“Well, in truth, that’s the side I’d much rather be on.” Newt drew a breath to say more but thought better of it. It wasn’t worth potentially upsetting his meal ticket. Especially when said meal ticket possessed demonic powers to bend people to his will and controlled a mark seared into Newt’s skin.

“No sympathy here,” the demon quipped, “I’m quite content to have you on my side.”

The car glided to a stop and Newt realized he couldn’t even say how long he’d been sitting in the car. The driver wordlessly exited, stopping first at Graves’ door and speaking in the same monotone voice he had back at Newt’s flat. Now that Newt knew the truth, it was incredibly disturbing.

He slid free of the leather backseat, following Graves into the black lacquered restaurant front adorned with two, huge gas lamps that lent a gloomy, atmospheric ambiance. Everyone from the maître d’ to their server spoke to Graves in the same flat tones as they settled into their table near a window, largely isolated from the rest of the patrons.

Clearly, Graves had been here before – he didn’t even need to see a menu to place orders for the most decadent food. Caviar. Oysters. Lobster bisque. Steak au poivre. Coq au vin. Suitable wine for each.

Newt stared at the tabletop, nearly agape. How were they supposed to eat all of it? Even more so when they supposedly weren’t going to pay a penny for it? He couldn’t say for sure he knew what everything was, but it sure sounded extravagant.

“You needn’t look so scandalized.” Graves’ voice was soft as it drifted over. “You only have one life, and I can’t die.”

Newt shook his head, flabbergasted. “How is this not a gross misuse of your demonic powers?”

“How do you know what constitutes a gross misuse of my demonic powers?”

“I seriously doubt Satan – or whoever created you – did so for you to hypnotize restaurant staff into giving you free meals.”

A grin softened the serious line of Graves’ mouth. “Indeed not. Let’s call it a privilege of rank.”

“And what is your rank?”

“I’m a knight.”

The blunt answer caught Newt by surprise. Was that the first straight response the demon had voluntarily given him? It was hard to remember. Newt shot his dinner companion a tentative glance, debating his honesty. “You’re a knight. And you told me, just like that? Presumably along with your privileges there are drawbacks – weaknesses. Aren’t you concerned revealing your rank likewise reveals your weaknesses?”

“Only if I was concerned of any weaknesses you could successfully exploit.”

“But I summoned you without trying. Couldn’t I also hurt you without trying?”

“No.”

“No? So, if I ran this steak knife through your heart, it would do nothing?”

The demon’s thick brows shrugged up. “Well, I’d be irritated that you spoiled such a nice night out. And impressed that you actually worked up the courage to take action, considering that you can’t even bring yourself to look me in the eye right now.”

“Highly social animals perceive eye contact as establishing or challenging dominance. I, generally speaking, prefer to do neither.”

“And yet you’re going to run me through with your steak knife?” The demon hummed low on smoky velvet. “You make for a most delicious study, and I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

A curl of heat sparked in Newt’s blood against his will. There was undeniably a physical reaction from his body towards the demon, but that’s all it was. Biology. How else could he ever even entertain such a liaison with a demon knight?

The arrival of the first course halted any more immediate attempts at conversation, followed by the swift arrival of bubbling white wine in thin-stemmed flutes. Champagne to go with the caviar, explained the slack-jawed server before disappearing.

Left alone again, Newt stared down at the confection before him. A brown egg shell sat atop a delicate dish, topped with white cream and a neat dollop of black caviar. Presumably the egg was filled with more of the white filling and not additional caviar? Newt couldn’t really tell.

“The egg is soft-poached, with a lemon creme fraiche, to accompany the caviar.” Graves’ voice drifted across the table as he lifted his mother of pearl spoon.

Newt reached for his own spoon, still staring quizzically at his egg. “Tell me, did you eat this sort of food when you were human? Assuming, that is, you were human...at one point in time.”

“All demons were once human.” Graves dipped his spoon through the black caviar, sinking it down to the bottom of the egg shell and scooping out a bite that bore an uncanny resemblance to the colors of his clothing. “And no, French cuisine was not available when I was a human.”

“How long ago was that?” Newt moved his own spoon to copy Graves.

The demon pulled the spoon free from his lips, reaching for his napkin as he swallowed. “Longer than is relevant to this conversation.”

Newt sniffed the bite, trying not to wrinkle his nose. “Well, if you’re going to be selective on answering questions, then I don’t feel that should hold any questions in reserve. What did you do to become a demon?” He brought the spoon to his mouth, closing around the bite. Salt burst on his tongue, mixed with tangy tart of the lemon and the silky texture of the runny yolk. He fought to reign in a grimace. How could anyone care for such a dish? It must just be the most acquired of tastes.

Of course, he could feel the weight of Graves’ keen assessment as he swallowed. With a hesitant edge, he glanced up at the demon’s face, noting distinct tells of fond amusement. The champagne flute in Graves’ hand glittered in the low light.

Graves nodded towards Newt’s glass. “Now, try the champagne.” As if to demonstrate, he raised his own glass. Newt watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed the fizzy drink but tore his eyes quickly away as the demon lowered his glass.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

“You don’t, hmm? On principal? Or you just don’t want to?”

“Just don’t want to.” It wasn't entirely a lie. Newt did drink, but only around his trusted friends.The idea of purposefully imbibing a liquid that made one lose control just seemed reckless. And Newt certainly wasn’t about to do anything that might even remotely impair his defenses in the presence of this demon.

“Good. Then, you can have one sip with each course. Just enough to indulge in the luxury of complimenting flavors. But no more.” Graves’ tone had taken a distinctly scolding edge, despite his wolfish grin. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for corrupting you.”  

Newt felt his cheeks flame, sinking his spoon back into the caviar egg. “You didn’t acknowledge my question. How did you become a demon?” He shoved the spoon into his mouth to avoid having to say anything else.

“I was hand-picked. Selected. Favored, some have said.”

“Do you not agree?”

“It’s of little matter. My demonization has afforded me much that my life would otherwise not.”

“But at the expense of your soul? That’s what I cannot understand.”

Graves expression flashed dark, thunderous as the grip on his spoon tightened. “Then stop trying, _human_. Ask your questions as you will, but there is much you can never hope to understand.”

Now wasn’t that just fascinating. Animals turned defensive when wounds were poked. Had Newt just found a wound to poke? A small thrill of victory ran through him.

He turned his spoon back to the egg for another bite. The salt wasn’t nearly so offensive now. He tried for a different approach. “You referred to it as your demonization - you say you were selected. So, another demon killed you and converted your soul into a demon. That’s how it works?”

Graves reached for his champagne with an indulgent sigh. “Pay attention. Demons are created when souls endure extensive torture to rid them of humanity - twisting them into evil, corrupted, powerful beings. You know vaguely of the hierarchy, and levels within that hierarchy come with respective levels of power -”

“Where does that place you as a knight?” Newt cut him off, too insistent to know.

“High enough.” Graves' gaze settled to Newt’s untouched champagne. “I’ve indulged your question, now you should indulge me in return. Try your champagne.”

“You’re awfully insistent.”

“Yes.”

Something in the demon’s tone sent an unbidden shiver down Newt’s spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he suddenly wondered not for the first time if he could outrun Graves.

He raised his eyes to the untouched glass of bubbles before him. What would one sip really hurt? But...what if it was drugged or bewitched? He shot a wary glance across the table. “How do I know it’s not tainted? If...if you’re as evil and corrupted as you say, what’s to keep you from poisoning or drugging my drink?”

Without warning, Graves extended a large hand towards Newt’s glass. And goodness, why was was Newt thinking about the size of his hands? He watched as Graves pulled the flute back to his lips, taking a generous pull, eyes drifting closed as the liquid slid down his throat. With a soft indulgent moan, he returned the glass to its previous place on the table. Newt could just make out the imprint of the demon’s lips on the glass rim in the low light.

“Not drugged and not tainted.” Graves lips curled with the barest hint of satisfaction. “Now, if you please. I won’t ask a third time.”

Newt stared at the glass, strongly debating the merits of not drinking the champagne. It was such a simple thing to do, but it represented so much. Was it worth risking a rain of hellfire or whatever Graves might do if he refused again?

No, this was not the hill to die on.

Newt reached for the flute, bringing it to his lips, feeling the bubbles tickle his nose before taking a drink. The sweet liquid rushed over his tongue, bright and fizzy as he swallowed. Graves looked all too pleased with the outcome, and Newt couldn’t help but wonder what he’d inadvertently done now. Surely, he hadn’t entered into another pact or arrangement with one sip of champagne.

The server appeared, whisking away the remains of their caviar and champagne without a word. Newt thought about protesting - there was still food left on his plate and he did so hate to waste food in a world where so many were hungry - but something in Graves’ stare gave him pause. By the time the waiter left, having deposited the oysters and lobster bisque, along with a glass of white wine, Newt was near squirming in his chair.

Graves reached for his soup spoon and Newt couldn’t take it any longer. He leveled the demon with an hard look. “Are you going to manipulate me the whole meal?”

“As my dinner guest, there are certain expectations that I wish you to conform to.”

“As your dinner guest? You said you invited me to dinner because you were intrigued about me. And now…? Now, you’re content to control me just to see...what? How pliable I am to your whims, hmm? Are you using your demonic powers to try and bend me to your will, like our poor chauffeur? Or our server?”

“Hardly.” The demon’s lips pursed as he blew on the steaming soup resting on his soup spoon. “Gauging your will to act without my influence tells me considerably more.”

“Without your influence? I wouldn’t have drank the champagne without it!”

“With what you perceived to be my influence. I merely told you to, but you could have refused. Your assumptions about me, coupled with your own insecurities, gave you the will to act to drink the champagne independent of any influence from me.”

Newt grappled for words, lips pinching tight. Having dinner with Graves was surely the worst idea. These conversations were going nowhere. He looked down to the two oysters laid out on the plate, accompanied by the steaming bowl of bisque. Somehow, this course was even more intimidating than the caviar egg.

He reached for his soup spoon, at least knowing where to start. He scooped out a bite, admittedly overtaken by the rich creaminess as it flooded his mouth. So maybe, just maybe, this lobster bisque was heavenly. Quite heavenly.

The contradiction that he was sharing it with a demon almost made him laugh, but he held it in check as he drew another delicious bite.

Graves’ voice drifted over the table, richly pleased. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I didn’t think the caviar would suit you.”

Newt stiffened, darting a judgmental look across the table. “Am I supposed to be flattered by that? Truly, your table-side manner needs improvement.”

“You can take it how you will. You’re not spoiling this meal for me.” The demon looked down to his plate, using his fork to carefully scoop out the oyster and delicate toppings. Newt watched those dark eyes close as the demon’s lips curled around the fork, clearly savoring the flavors bursting on his tongue. The sight rushed an unbidden frisson of heat through Newt’s body, all thoughts of his own spoon neglected. Watching Graves eat should not be this...distracting.

Newt laid his spoon to rest, reaching for his fork. Not to be outdone by a demon, he scraped against the oyster shell, scooping out the contents and taking a bite before he could think twice. Tangy and briney, the oyster slipped over his tongue and down his throat. Honestly, it felt more like swallowing a lump of snot than any real food. He chased it with a gulp of water, reaching for his napkin. “So...I’d rather like to hear about your plans for your side of the deal. Arrangements will need to be made for animals, you know, and the sooner I can start. Well, the better.”

The demon drew another lazy bite of soup, savoring the flavor. Newt reached for his own spoon, lips pursing. Was the demon purposefully being obtuse? There was no way Graves hadn’t heard him.

Newt drew a breath to speak, but stopped when Graves started in a low, soft tone. “You were right, as it happens. The man – Gnarlack – he had far reaching connections. Russian oligarchs and mafiosos.” Graves paused to reach for his wine. “They used that shelter as a drop point for smuggling small-time items into the city.”

Newt shook his head, dejected. “No wonder those poor animals are so mistreated. Promise me that you’ll make your move soon. I don’t want them to continue suffering needlessly anymore.”

Graves' throat worked as he swallowed the white liquid. He lowered the glass with an air of satisfaction. “It’s already done.”

The words stunned Newt. His spoon nearly slipped from his slackened grip but the swift arrival of the server stole his attention. Again, the dishes and wine were taken away half consumed, and replaced with two steaming plates - the chicken for Graves, and the steak for himself. Two glasses of red wine cast a matching glow against the tablecloth as they were left on their own. 

Newt fumbled for his knife and fork, still struggling to process the demon's word. “That’s not possible. It’s only been a little over a week. You’re lying to me again.” He sighed, shaking his head with frustration as he sawed at the meat. “You lying lair, you. I can’t believe it. Honestly, I’ve half a mind to push up from this table and just walk away. You were the one who told me, after all, not to trust you had completed the job without definitive proof.”

“I already told you I’m not fucking you tonight.”

“That doesn’t mean you completed the job.” Newt’s knife clanked against the edge of his plate. His cheeks flamed at the loud noise as he raised the fork to his lips. Such a wonderful array of flavors came to life, deep and rich and savory. This was by far and away his favorite of the evening. He cut another bite. “Do you have any proof?”

A smile flashed across the demon’s face in the low light. “That wasn’t part of our pact’s terms. You failed to require proof as part of your request. It is, therefore, incumbent upon yourself to produce definitive proof.” Graves speared a bite with his fork, running the meat through the sauce on his plate. “Though, I will suggest that you start with a visit to the shelter.”

Newt reigned in a sigh. “Thank you, Sherlock. Truly, your deductive powers are without match.”

“You shouldn’t take it as an insult to your intelligence. You’re smarter than most, for the average human.”

Despite himself, Newt felt his cheeks flush. Compliments were so awkward. “There are plenty who would disagree with you.”

“But they don’t know what I know.”

Something in the demon’s tone raced a shiver down Newt’s spine. It sounded so…possessive. Alluring. Intriguing. Newt found himself wanting to fall for it, his innate sense of curiosity wanting to latch onto such a fount and never let go.

No. But no. The meal was almost finished, after all. He cut his last bite of steak, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, then…I suppose I should thank you. For the meal. For, supposedly, completing the job. Unfortunately, with clinicals, it may yet be a few days before I can pop over to the shelter and confirm it’s closed. And, of course, I’ll need time to verify that it is indeed permanently shut down, never to return.”

“Of course.” Graves leaned back casually against his chair, swirling his wine glass against the tabletop. The light that caught in the red liquid threw glittering shadows against the white tablecloth. “I won’t have it said that you’re unsatisfied.”

Newt tired not to linger on the double entendre or the silky register of the demon’s words. Goodness, was there something in the food increasing his awareness of Graves’ attractiveness? Surely not. Surely, it was just proximity and the lack of any other human to interact with. But wasn’t that the kick of it – Graves wasn’t human. For all the reasonable, agreeable nature he presented – truth of it was, he just wasn’t.

Newt swallowed his last bite, leaning back in his own chair to match Graves, feeling the demon’s heavy stare on him. He flitted his gaze across Graves' striking face before settling on a point over his shoulder. “You know,” Newt spoke softly, swallowing to gather his courage, “for supposedly having the humanity tortured out of you, you’re surprisingly…human.”

“Don’t mistake civility for humanity. I’m sure you of all people understand adaptability for survival.”

Newt did indeed understand. It made for a most fascinating study how different creatures had adapted to survive, to blend in, and live in an ever-changing world. But he never would have thought to look for that in a demon knight. What did Graves – or whatever his true name was – really have to worry about blending in? Why should he care? Newt leveled him with a determined gaze. “Why should you concern yourself with something so trivial? You heavily implied that you can’t be harmed except by those who knows how, so why should you bother to hide your true nature under a layer of manners and social niceties? Surely, you could just make your pacts without having to actually play at being human.”

An indulgent grin cracked Graves’ mouth. “It’s widely agreed between the agents of Heaven and Hell that anonymity suits our purposes better. Humans are calmer when they think they’re the most powerful beings to walk the earth. Having them think otherwise is of little benefit to either side.”

“Either side,” Newt echoed, forehead pinching in thought, “either side…of the immortal struggle between good and evil.”

“Precisely.” Graves nodded ever so gently. “It’s also far more advantageous to walk among humans without drawing attention. Nothing makes an agent of Heaven descend faster than a true display of demonic power.”

“You don’t call them angels?”

“I find most of them to be less than angelic.”

Newt snorted inelegantly. “Is that only because they thwart your best laid plans? And try to send you back from whence you came, hmm? People seldom say kind things about their enemies.”

Something in Graves’ assessing gaze was far too shrewd. “You may be one of the few exceptions.”

“I don’t wish to add more negativity and ugliness to the world. There’s so much of it already. So no, I’m proud to say that I don’t have any enemies. Not even you.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that.” The demon’s eyes smoldered in the low light, a promise burning bright. Tingling heat raced down Newt's spine, his breath catching in anticipation. 

Goodness, no…it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be…he didn’t really want Graves. Did he…? Newt tensed at the dreaded realization - at the mortifying horror that Graves could bloody well be right. He shifted uncomfortably against his chair as he tried not to hear Graves' words from their first meeting - ' _You're going to want it. And the best part? You're going to like it'._

Graves drank in every movement, blinking slowly before darting his gaze towards the restaurant doors. “Well, if you’re finished – shall we?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things come to those who...isn't that how it should work?

Paltry sunlight worked through the gray clouds, but it was just barely enough. Newt couldn’t hold back a small smile as he basked in the faint warmth on his cheeks. The wind had mercifully decided to take a break and Newt was rather enjoying his long walk with Dougal. “Ooof – stop pulling, please. You won’t be able to get those squirrels. They have a right to eat, too, you know, and you’ve already had your breakfast.”

He held tighter on the dog’s leash, feeling the disgruntled tug at the other end. Another anxious whine slipped from the dog’s throat as he angled towards the patch of grass with the offending squirrels. At least Dougal was getting some stimulation. The cold months were always dreary for the big dog despite his particular penchant for colder temperatures with his thick fur.

Without warning, the dog took an immediate diversion from the grass towards the row of benches. Newt followed, helpless to reign in the sudden, fierce pull from the strong animal. “Dougal! This is quite unlike you. Stop this. Come on, now – Dougal?! No!!” He watched in horror as Dougal snatched the last half of a man’s hotdog, bun and all, right from his lap. The man instantly turned from his phone, gazing down in surprised astonishment as they watched Dougal shamelessly consume the tasty food.

Newt’s cheeks burned. “Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry. He’s never done anything like this before. I can’t even begin to tell you…how horrible this is. Please – please allow me to buy you another one.”

The man looked up to Newt with a smile that was far too relaxed for a man who’d just had his lunch stolen. His spiky white hair stood stark against the landscape, and his mismatched eyes just bordered this side of uncanny. He shook his head casually, speaking in faintly accented tones. “No, that’s quite alright. To be honest, I was thinking of not finishing it.” He smiled down at Dougal. “I’m glad it didn’t go to waste.”

“But that’s still no excuse. I can’t believe he did that. He certainly knows better. Here,” Newt dug in his pocket, fumbling for some loose bills that he’d shoved in earlier after lunch, “please – at least take these then. If only to ease my conscience.”

“Sure.” The man reached out for the bills, his smile eerily unmoving and eyes unwavering from Newt’s face. “If only to ease your conscience, of course.” He tucked the bills into the pocket of his long dark blue coat. It looked very old-world to Newt’s eyes, as did the cravat wrapped around his neck under the man’s white dress shirt. The man held out his hand. “Gellert Grindelwald.”

Newt reluctantly held a hand out. “Newt Scamander.” He shook quickly, noting a surprising warmth in the man’s skin even with the afternoon chill.

“A rather interesting tattoo, that.”

Newt looked down in horror to see the scorpion on his wrist exposed to the seated man. He quickly grabbed for the sleeve of his coat, pulling it down. “Not really. It’s nothing special.”

“Oh, now I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure there’s plenty about you that’s special.” Grindelwald raked his eyes down Newt’s body, drawing a deep inhale as his eyes darkened. "Yes…yes, I can see why he likes you.”

Newt’s brow furrowed as he fidgeted uncomfortably. “I beg your pardon…who?”

“Why your dog, of course.” Grindelwald’s gaze landed on Dougal as he held out a hand for the white dog to sniff. “Such gorgeous fur. What’s his name?”

“Oh, um – it’s Dougal.” A crawling sensation ran down Newt’s spine as he watched Grindelwald pat Dougal’s head.

“Better be careful there, Dougal. Wouldn’t want to get your master into any more trouble, now would we?”

“Yes, I quite agree.” This was far too much now, every survival instinct within Newt screaming to run far away from this man. “Again, I do apologize for his behavior. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon.”

An unsettling wolfish grin cracked Grindelwald's face as he dragged his mismatched eyes back up Newt’s body. “I assure you, my dear boy, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Another shudder worked through Newt's body and he nodded in farewell, tugging on Dougal’s leash. His feet couldn’t carry him away from that bench fast enough. Goodness, but that man had been disconcerting. He certainly hadn’t been subtle in his appraisals of Newt’s person. And the way his accent curled around the words ‘any more trouble’. Revulsion rocked Newt’s stomach as he and Dougal walked.

Was that just the man’s punishment for Dougal eating the hotdog? He’d taken Newt’s money, after all. There was no cause to come across so sexually creepy. And the fact that he’d latched onto the tattoo was certainly unsettling. 

A sick thought entered Newt’s brain. Was it…could it be possible that Grindelwald had recognized the mark on Newt’s wrist? He couldn’t possibly be connected to Graves.

Could he?

The possibility did nothing to settle Newt’s jumbled nerves as he entered his building and returned to the comforting familiarity of his flat. Shrugging off his coat and unhooking Dougal’s leash, he absently stared at the mark on his wrist.

Was it just a giant supernatural target? Would it attract more demons or angels or whoever? He could see Grindelwald’s cold, mismatched eyes and shuddered. Suddenly, he longed to talk to Graves. To be reassured by his steady, confident presence. To hear words in that low, unique register of his.

Oh boy.

How messed up was it that he wanted to be comforted by a demon?

* * *

He hadn’t been lying to Graves. With his clinical rotations and homework, he hadn’t had the time to make the trek over to Gnarlack’s shelter. Or, supposedly what remained of the shelter. Newt couldn’t deny he was giddy at the prospect of finding it reduced to ruin.

But after the long and jostling subway ride, he emerged from the station on the street, ducking down into his scarf against the wind. Dusky light painted the surrounding building facades as he walked the familiar route, his pace brisk to ward off the chill, and not for the first time, regretted that he’d misplaced his gloves.

He rounded the block, the plain and unwelcoming front of the shelter coming into view. Adjusting the strap on his messenger bag before jamming his hands in his coat pockets, he crossed up the stairs towards the darkened interior. He tried the door and sure enough – locked. No light came from within and he squinted through the glass, trying to make anything out. That’s when he noticed the sign taped in the bottom corner of the window. He poured over the words, astonished.

Abandoned. Under investigation. Purview of NYPD. Trespassers arrested.

His lips pulled to a hopeful smile. Could it really be so…? He scanned the building facade again, unable to deny the relief and hope that bubbled inside him. It seemed too good to finally be true.

He crossed back down the steps, circling the block to head up the back alley.  The shelter back door stood out against the brick and gray surroundings, flagged in yellow crime scene tape. The door handle was wrapped in an official-looking, sterile plastic. Orange cones cordoned off a small area within the door radius and the utility lines running into the building. The scene made Newt’s brow pinch. Just what exactly had happened here?

He stopped short of the orange cone blockade, taking it all in. Surely, this wasn’t a setup. It looked so damn real. He desperately wanted it to be real.

The bang of a metal trashcan made him jump, breaking him from his thoughts. His gaze landed on a portly woman across the alley, wiping a hand on an apron as she righted the trashcan lid. She squinted at him with beady eyes perched above a hawk-like nose.

As much as Newt hated talking to strangers, he knew what he needed to do. He pulled his lips to a small smile, dropping his gaze to a point over her shoulder. “Hello,” he called out softly, “I don’t suppose you could tell me what happened here?”

The woman sniffed. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, I’m-I’m a vet, and I had an appointment to treat an animal here today. But the place is…dark and covered in police tape?”

“I got eyes too, you know.” She folded her arms impatiently. “There was gas spewing outta that line there, stinking up the alley. I only came out when I heard the sirens, but can't mistake  _ that _ smell. Next thing I know, there’s cops and utility guys crawling all over the place – taping things, taking photos, checking for more leaks. They asked us all if we’d seen Gnarlack or if he said anything. Guess he’s missing or the like.” She snorted, no hint of remorse in her gaze. “Good riddance to him, I say.”

“Really?” Newt’s eyes widened, unable to believe it. “He’s missing? Just like that…,” he licked his lips, considering, “and what about the animals? Do you know if they were transferred?”

“They was hauled outta there in crates, if that’s what you mean. Dunno where they went from there.”

“That’s…well, that’s truly excellent news. The substandard care offered here was always concerning to me.” Newt looked back to the pipes on the shelter’s outer wall, noting one that was visibly sealed and capped. “And you said gas? Spewing out into the alley…?"

The woman turned, disinterested and started back up the steps towards her building. “Yeah. Utility guys said we was lucky it didn’t cause an explosion. Guess it got built up pretty high.”

“Explosion?” Newt’s eyes widened. “That would have been terrible. For everyone.”

"You’re telling me, buddy.” Her cackling laugh drifted across the alley. “If I was you, I wouldn’t hang around there. Snoopin’ Ed’s already seen you and I wouldn’t put it past him to call the cops. Always looking for attention, that one.” She pushed back inside her building without another word and Newt didn’t think twice.

He rounded the corner back to the main street, unable to banish the smile from his face. Graves had done it. He’d really  _ done _ it! But gas? Gas?! What if it had exploded? The whole block would have gone up in flames, including the animals. Surely, Newt wouldn’t have had to honor the payment if that happened. But it didn’t matter now. The shelter was closed, and only time would tell if Gnarlack resurfaced or if the shelter opened back up.

A cold dread settling in Newt’s stomach told him that it wasn’t likely. Gnarlack was missing now – probably dead - and technically, it was Newt’s fault. Goodness, but that was a gut-wrenching thought. Did that make him a murder? Sure, Graves did the legwork but Newt had the intent. Well, he hadn’t necessarily wanted Graves to murder him – a lifetime prison sentence would have been equally acceptable.

The moral implications continued to turn over in his brain only broken when his phone pinged.

_ Hey sweetie – you on your way? _

He could hear Queenie’s singsong in the text and felt instantly more relaxed. Until he looked at the time and realized he was late. Bugger.

He shot off a quick reply and bolted for the subway station. The subway seemed to crawl far slower on the return journey even though he knew it was the same amount of time, and he dashed free of the doors and out onto the street.

He was proud to say he was only slightly out of breath when he pushed into the restaurant’s warm interior.

Queenie waved at him enthusiastically. “Newt! It’s about time you got here.” She jumped up, catching him in a bug hug. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Nothing to be worried about.” He unwrapped his scarf and undid his coat buttons as he returned Tina and Jacob’s greetings. “Apologies for being late. I promise, I did remember this time, but I just got…caught up.”

Jacob waved him off. “No problem, pal. We’ve got an appetizer on the way, and a cassis spritz for you.”

“Lovely.” Newt smiled warmly in gratitude. “That’s prefect, thank you.” He sighed, shifting gears for dinner with his friends.

“Hey,” Tina’s voice was soft with concern, “you alright? You look a little winded.”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite alright, thanks.” He didn’t quite meet her gaze. “I was just halfway across town when Queenie texted me.”

Tina’s eyes lit with disbelief. “Halfway across town? What in the world were you doing?”

The waiter interrupted, depositing a round of cocktails and heavenly smelling spinach dip. Newt took a sip of his spritz before responding, enjoying the refreshing taste. “I had an appointment to attend a dismal little clinic, only to get there and find it quite shut down.” He couldn’t help his wide smile as he spoke.

Queenie smiled to match. “That’s wonderful – especially hearing you say it was ‘dismal’. You never say a bad thing about anyone.”

“Yeah, say – speaking of anyone – where’s, uh…where’ your guy, huh?” Jacob asked with a hesitant yet hopeful smile. “Queen said you might bring him? I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Newt felt his cheeks flush. He’d forgotten about that little detail. “Yes, well…he spends long hours at his office. Finance or the like. I don’t understand most of it, really. But there was some meeting today with Japan that he couldn’t get out of. Said I probably wouldn’t see him until much later tonight.”

Queenie chuckled with a sly edge. “Mmm, nothing like a little lovin’ to let go the stress of the day.”

“Oh god, Queenie,” Tina mumbled through a mouthful of dip, “I’m trying to eat here.”

The table dissolved into quiet laughter and fortunately, the topic of conversation steered away from Newt’s supposed love life. He may not be too keen on social interaction as a general rule, but the time spent with his close friends was always a joy. Especially on the heels of such good news about Gnarlack’s shelter. His spritz went down with ease and he ordered a second, allowing himself to indulge in a little celebration was such good friends.

He left the restaurant with a full stomach, happy heart, and mellow mind. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad having this demonic pact. So far, Graves had shown himself to be reasonable and clearly he had a taste for luxury and indulgence – perhaps when he came to collect payment, it wouldn’t be too bad. Good gracious. He couldn’t believe the direction of his thoughts.

The job was done, and he owed Graves. Simple as that. The situation would sort itself out when it happened.

The warmth of his flat and the happy welcome from his animals chased the thoughts from his mind. He was more than happy to share the details of his day as he tended to them and went through the motions for bed. He sighed when he relaxed against the mattress, laying on his back, eyes closing as he absently scratched between Niffler’s ears.

Would Graves take him on his back? Would he have to look Graves in the face during? Or would he be taken from behind, face buried in the bedcovers? Assuming they were on a bed. And that the demon wasn’t going to tie him up. Or gag him. Or blindfold him. Surely, not whip him? A shudder ran down Newt’s spine before he could quash it.

It did no good to linger on the looming, countless possibilities. No matter what his overactive mind tried to conjure – there would be a time and place, and tonight was not it. He had clinicals tomorrow, after all, and it certainly wouldn’t do to nod off during an appointment. He rolled over to reach for the bedside light and froze at the sight.

The man from the park – Grindelwald, with his white, spiked hair and mismatched eyes – lounged casually against the dresser. His gaze pinned Newt to the bed with a triumphant gleam. Newt’s heart hammered in his chest as he could do nothing but stare back, feeling so naked, so vulnerable. How…what was he supposed to do now? In a rush, he desperately wished for Graves. 

Grindelwald pushed off the dresser, standing straight and rubbing his hands together. “Come along, darling. We’ve got to get you to the church on time.”

The bedside light went out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are truly blowing me away with your continued support of this adventure. Thank you for your patience with sporadic updates. :)

Newt breathed, slowly swimming up from the darkness. Everything ached. Ached in ways he hadn’t even known possible. Yet Gellert had found ways. Excruciating ways.

Of course, the demon hadn’t laid a hand on Newt. He didn’t have to. Apparently, his thoughts alone were enough to send Newt straining against his bonds in sheer, mind-splitting agony. He’d long lost count of how many times the demon had visited and made Newt the undivided center of his attention.

Had it been hours? Days? Surely, someone had noticed by now that he was missing. But it was NYC – there were unsolved disappearances all the time. Had Graves noticed? Would Graves care?

Did it even matter? Why Newt should pin such hope on escaping one demon by the hand of another was beyond him. Perhaps it was the pain talking.

He blinked blearily in the dim space. Water dripped from somewhere, echoing against the dank stone room. Faint light filtered in and the scurrying of rat feet could always be heard in the cavernous space. Hadn’t…he struggled to remember. Hadn’t Gellert said something about a church…?

He tried to draw a deep breath, struggling at the constriction in his chest and the burn in his throat. He hadn’t really said anything during his captivity. Gellert didn’t seem to want information. Just screams and hoarse cries. But to what end? When would it end? What had Newt done?

Was this a ploy at Graves? Did Gnarlack have a contract with this demon? The possibilities only made the pounding in Newt’s head worse.

He hung his head, struggling to breath against his bonds. Both arms were bound by chains above his head, but there was just enough give that he dangled from them now that his legs had given out from hunger and exhaustion. With great effort, he rolled his head back up, resting against the cold, damp stone. Maybe he could knock his head back into the stone and pass out.

Gellert always left him alone when he passed out. But every time Newt came to, without fail, the demon returned.

A soft pop and gust of air had Newt wanting to double in on himself. Couldn’t…just this once…there be a reprieve?

“A reprieve?” The demon echoed mockingly - and Newt fought a whimper to resist begging. “No, no reprieve, darling. Not today. But you needn’t fear! I don’t want to cause any permanent damage, you see.”

Newt shrank away from the honeyed voice, trying to dissolve into the wall. Gellert stepped up, the stench of sulfur and decay pungent as he grasped Newt’s chin between his fingers, forcing Newt’s face to his.

“I had hoped to indulge you longer, but Percival is getting close. Don’t you think he deserves something as a reward for his diligence?” A chortle issued low in Gellert’s throat, breath gusting across Newt’s face. “He’s been looking for you for a good while, and I don’t want to spoil just everything.”

“P…Per-Percival?” Newt struggled to form the name, trying to swallow against the dry grain in his throat.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Gellert purred, his smile widening, “you wear his mark but you know don’t even know his name. You are such a treasure.”

Newt struggled to understand through the aches and pains. Percival was…Graves. Percival. Was that his true name? Why couldn’t he know that? Did that impart him more power over the demon? He drew a strained breath to speak but stopped short as Gellert squeezed his jaw. The strong grip continued to tighten and Newt whined, squirming to try and pull away. Gellert’s hand pressed harder on the bone and Newt thought his jaw would surely snap.

Gellert's smile turned dark, hungry. “I want you to have no doubt that I am _thoroughly_ looking forward to our time together. And it will be my honor to educate you as Percival never would.”

With a rough shove, he released Newt’s jaw and reached up for the shackle around Newt’s right wrist as Newt struggled to breath through the relief. He barely registered Gellert pulling his arm free of the restraint and placing a hand over his wrist, gripping it tight.

“That which hellfire created, only hellfire can undo.” Gellert chuckled darkly. “You’re lucky I happen to have an unlimited supply.”

Searing pain exploded on Newt’s wrist. Screams tore from his throat as he jerked against Gellert’s touch, overcome with the intensity of the agony spreading up his arm. His nerves fried under the continued assault, and surely - this would kill him.

The pain lifted suddenly, leaving him reeling and sobbing. Unable to form words, unable to think. Gellert’s words were just audible over the rush of blood in his ears. “Cheer up. We still have so much to look forward to, you and I.”

The demon disappeared in a wisp of black smoke, leaving Newt to the dank surroundings.

His arm burned with phantom flames. He couldn’t see all too well in the low light, but the skin looked so red and raw. Blood oozed from the tortured, flayed skin, and a cry of frustration pitched in his throat. He didn’t ask for any of this! Why the hell was he suddenly now such a target! He drew sobbing gasps, fighting to keep it together. He pulled his throbbing wrist in to tuck against his chest. At least Gellert hadn’t reattached the shackle.

Was he right, though? Was Graves – Percival? – really coming? Or that was just a cruel mind game.

Time slowed to a crawl with nothing but the eerie sounds of his prison and the miserable state of his body for company.

Until a brilliant light lit the space, accompanied by a reverberating boom. A gusting breeze pelted him with dirt and other debris, rousing him from his semi-dozing state. Every instinct in his body fired to fight, braced for Gellert’s return. For more torture. But the figure that strode towards him with dark hair and familiar, polished edges was certainly not Gellert. Newt sobbed at the sight of Graves before him, relief overtaking him.

He couldn’t be sure if Graves was speaking. Maybe he was? In that same indiscernible language that he’d previously spoken to Dougal? Then abruptly, Newt heard. “We have to go. Now.”

The rest of Newt’s restraints fell away, and he slumped forward into heat. Such strong heat.

It was hard to remember details. Wet clumps pelted his face as he squinted in bright gray light. Snow? Rain? Confidant, guiding hands held and steered him, until he was off his feet. Being carried? Did he pass out?

He recognized the familiar colors and scent of his bedsheets, Graves bending over to lay him out. Everything hurt, but how his arm burned with a deep ache. He knew he was gross and bloody and just disgusting but he couldn't stop burrowing against the comfort of his bed. He was free, he was free. He was safe.

He tried curling into a ball, just wanting to let it all go. But lethargy caught up with him and he just lay, fighting heavy eyelids, listening to the sounds of Graves' shoes against the worn floor. So strong, so sure. So reassuring. The delirious part of his brain couldn’t get over the fact that he took such comfort in the presence of a demon.

Warm hands fell to his shoulder, rolling him over onto his back before taking his right arm in a gentle hold. Newt let out a pained whimper as Graves gently prodded the destroyed skin. Without warning, the demon cursed low, livid and disturbing, in that unknown language. His face turned dark, thunderous...even...was - was that regret?

Newt squinted up at him, blinking to try and make sense of demon's expression. "What...what is it? Mr. Graves...?" 

With calm, control, Graves lowered Newt's arm back to the bed, schooling his face into a look of coiled danger. "Gellert tortured you, yes? With no real intent." 

Newt felt tears wet his eyes but none fell. "Yes." It came out more of a crack than a true word. 

"And then he did this - to your wrist? Recently." 

Newt croaked another affirmative, fear knotting his stomach. "What...what did he do?" 

Graves' gaze was heavy, deadly. "He stole your contract from me. Took the mark from your skin so he can claim the payment." The demon’s scowl deepened. “He owns your pact now, and I cannot take it back.”

Newt’s blood froze as his addled brain struggled to process the words. “Does...that...mean that he…,” Newt’s vision swam and nausea ate at him, “no.”

“By demonic pact, your virginity is now his.” The demon’s voice coiled tight, pitched low. As if grasping on the last thread of control.

“Oh, god.” Newt was surely going to vomit. “No, he can’t...he -.” He struggled for breath, his body reeling with each deep, panicked breath - still somehow managing to summon an adrenaline survival response. “Can’t you just…just take me? Now or soon? Before he does. I don’t -.” Newt’s voice caught. “I don’t want it to be him." He raised his shaking left hand, feebly reaching out to beg, to plead.

Graves turned from the bed, crisp footsteps echoing against the floor. “I’ll deal with it.”

“No, please - can’t we figure this out together?” Newt continued to watch the immaculate dark figure move away, a sob lodging in his throat to mix with the pain and fear. "Don't, please. Don't leave me."

If Graves heard him, he gave no indication. Another trembling sob shook Newt’s weak frame at the thought of suddenly being alone. “Please, don’t go.” He opened his mouth once more as the demon disappeared in a puff of black smoke. “ _Percival!_ ”

A terrifying silence reigned in the flat, broken only by Newt’s heaving breaths. He tried not to sob, not to call out again. But he couldn’t help the fear that ate at him.

Fear that Gellert would return. Just pop in and take him back. Could Newt kill himself before that happened? Goodness, wasn’t that just the darkest thought?

He flopped his head back against the bed, vision swimming as he tried to think through the pain and exhaustion. It hurt so much. And maybe…maybe he should just sleep. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

A rattling noise sounded from his living room – the click of keys in the lock, the squeak of door hinges. Newt stiffened against the mattress, eyes flying open. With wide eyes, he watched – completely unprepared – only to see Tina walk through his bedroom door.

Only it wasn’t quite…Tina. Well, physically – it certainly was her. But even through the pain and panic, he recognized the blank, glassy look of those under Graves’ power.

“T-Tina…?” He stared at her, trying to gauge a reaction. But she ignored him completely, rounding the corner into the bathroom. Goodness, she hadn’t even blinked.

Newt wrenched a hard, dry swallow, trying to understand. Had Graves bewitched – possessed? – Tina and sent her here? The thought was equal parts chilling and comforting. He didn’t think the demon had listened to him.

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, and he recognized the sounds of his bathtub filling. It wasn’t long before she came back to his bedroom, helping him up and bundling him into the tub with detached, clinical – lifeless – motions.

The hot water seeped into his aching limbs, providing a true wave of relief. Even his wrist seemed to benefit from the soothing water. He might have dozed off, but Tina reappeared all to soon and coaxed him from the tub. There was no awkwardness with his state of undress – she wouldn’t remember any of this anyway and he was too exhausted to care. She smoothly wrapped his right forearm in a clean bandage, and when she helped him back into the bedroom, he stared in stunned disbelief at the change of bedcovers – even the blanket had been replaced with something clean and fresh.

He couldn't find the words, and he shouldn’t be surprised. Graves clearly had everything well in hand.

Newt settled under the covers, sighing as his head hit the pillow. But that’s when Tina’s eyes focused and awareness returned to her face. She scanned the bed with wide eyes, a look of concerned alarm marring her face. Newt groaned, sinking further into his pillow. Why couldn’t Percival have left her entranced longer?

“Newt…?” She looked so lost, so concerned…so angry. “What the fuck?” She glanced around his room before looking back to him. He knew he looked better after the bath, but he still looked like death. “What the actual _fuck_?”

“Tina, it’s…” he mumbled sleepily, the words thick on his tongue. “It’s not easy to explain, and I’m so…so tired.”

“Look, I can ignore that I’m freaked out over not knowing how I got here or what I’m doing here – but I can’t ignore that you’re hurt. God, look at you.” She perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, taking him in with wide, kind eyes. “Surely, I wasn’t that angry or upset when I came over. Or was I? What happened?” Her face darkened. “Was it Colin? Cause I swear to God, he won’t-“

“No,” the word was sharp despite his haziness, “no – it wasn’t him. This…this was just a mugging gone south.”

“A mugging gone south?” She stared at him, a concerned sadness creeping into her gaze. “You know how that sounds right?”

Newt swallowed hard, rolling onto his side and curling into his pillow. “I know how it sounds.”

“If you’re protecting him...if you’re in over your head, just. I don’t know. Say banana or something.”

“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” He forced his heavy eyes open. “I just need you to trust me now, please. There’s...I’m in the middle of something and this -. Please believe me, if I could tell you, I would.”

“I know,” she nodded earnestly, “I know you would, but this...this doesn’t look good. At all.”

Newt tried to effect a smile. “Not good at all, I’m sure.”

“God, Newt,” Tina sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face, “it’s so late and I don’t even know what I’m doing here. And you’re laying there hurt...it’s like. Like there’s just a blank in my mind. None of this makes sense.”

“It will.” He tried for reassurance, reaching out a hand to brush her leg. “Maybe just not right now. Maybe...perhaps after some sleep.”

“I certainly hope so,” she looked down at him, mouth edging to a smile, “but you first. Lord knows you need it.”

A yawn hinged his jaw by way of response and she chuckled softly, nodding.

“Get some sleep, Scamander.” She patted his leg gently as she rose from the bed. “I’ll come by later today to check on you. To see if this makes any more sense in the daylight.”

He just barely registered the sound of his front door locking before sleep swallowed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Prince has always understood him more than he would like.

Seraphina had never been able to shake the human love of hot, luxurious baths. Yes, she’d been dead for more millennia than she cared to remember. Yes, she’d been tortured past the edge of humanity. Yes, she’d been demonized. But dammit all if she still didn’t love to soak her corporeal form in sudsy hot water.

Perhaps the heat reminded her of her kingdom. The thought pulled a lazy smile to her lips as she indulged in the languorous heat.

Crisp footfalls sounded outside the door, determination and purpose evident in the stride. They weren’t concerning, though. Only her top confidants knew about this place - her true inner sanctum - and only they would dare to approach in such a manner.

The door opened without a knock and she knew it would only be one knight - “Percy.” Her lips pulled to a welcoming smile as she shifted beneath the sudsy water. “You can take that frown right back outside. I’ll not have you spoiling this bath.”

In truth, her best knight looked awful. Well, awful to those who knew him. His eyes blazed, matching the incensed anger that hardened his usually stern countenance. The lines of his body were coiled, tight and tense, beneath his stylish appearance. She recognized the look all too well from countless battles and encounters. The look of her knight on the warpath.

He strode into her bath chamber, completely unphased by her state of undress or her indulgence. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been in here before. Or joined her in the bathtub. Or lost himself to the shared pleasure of their bodies. Lucifer, but that was an eon ago.

“Please forgive my intrusion, Sera,” he clasped his hands dutifully behind his back, “but this cannot be helped.”

“You have yet to disappoint me.” She lifted a hand from the water, giving her wrist a turn. An elegant, cushioned bench appeared next to the tub’s edge. It simply wouldn’t do to strain her neck looking up at him. She was older than him, after all. “Let me guess...is this about Gellertonium?”

“Yes, my prince.”

His use of her official address in such an intimate setting disconcerted her. “Then, I’d have you tell me.”

He stepped over to the bench, sitting with a graceful economy of motion that she’d always appreciated. “He’s usurped yet another pact. One of mine, this time.”

“Your animal saving virgin?”

“Yes.”

“You knew that would catch his attention.”

“Yes, that’s why I agreed to the pact’s terms.”

“That’s why I let you _keep_ the pact’s terms.”

He nodded down, ever respectful. That was one thing she’d always liked about Percivalatious. The demon knight was plenty ambitious for his own personal gain, but he knew his place in the hierarchy. And he was damn good at what he did.

She shifted against the tub basin, the water rolling around her and releasing a fresh wave of steam. “So, now what? You’ll seek out a way to remove him completely from my court?”

“Only with your permission.”

Her lips lifted to a pleased smirk. That was a lesson that Gellertonium still had yet to learn. Asking her permission was far easier than begging her forgiveness. “I won’t have you tear my court apart all over some pact with a virgin. If you go after him, you do so on terra and without my official authority.”

“Oh please, Sera,” his eyes narrowed with disgust as he regarded her, “you’ve heard the same rumblings that I have. He plans to overthrow your court, usurp your throne.”

“Yes, of course. Gellertonium’s eyes have always been bigger than his stomach.”

“You’re remarkably cavalier about this rumored coup.”

She cut him with a sharp gaze. “Don’t take that tone with me, Percivalatious. If I start rendering verdicts on knights for actions they have not yet committed, then that will generate more unrest than I care to deal with. Now, you have a score to settle to Gellert – larger than just this virgin, and no one denies that. Me, least of all.” She watched his face darken in obvious remembrance, unable to keep a smirk from her lips. “Now, if this virgin just happens to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and you remove a viable threat from my court, please know that I’ll be eternally grateful. And you may even find yourself handsomely rewarded.”

There it was. Her implicit blessing. And he was more than capable of reading between the lines.

He continued to look down at her, as if struggling to find words. But she knew that wasn’t true. He was hesitating. On purpose.

She shifted beneath the water, the water rolling and baring her breasts until it settled out. “Say what you’re not saying.” Whatever it was, it countermanded something she’d already said. His dissenting opinions or requests were the only things he ever hesitated to say around her.

He licked his lips, releasing a steady breath. “I need an introduction. And a location.”

She blinked up at him, the knowledge that she already said she wouldn’t help him still heavy between them. But she had to admit she knew what he was thinking. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t thought of it herself. The perfect trap on terra. Her gaze took a resigned edge. “The Guardian?”

“The Guardian.”

“Dumbledorebus doesn’t like to upset the status quo.”

“And I won’t ask him to. But I cannot do it without his support.”

“Agreed. No one knows the Devil’s Triangle better than him.”

Percival’s gaze softened, a desperation seeping into his dark eyes, a hardened resolve. “Please, Sera.”

It was his final, last plea. If she turned him down again, he would respect her word and pursue an alternate path. But he had always been so loyal, so faithful, so _good_ to her. She rolled her head against the tub edge, stretching out the curve of her neck. “Consider it done. As to the other half of your request – Mayaguana.”

The corner of his lips lifted, admiration and appreciation warming his face. “Mayaguana.”

The word, coupled with his expression, sent a ripple of heat through her and she chuckled low, indulging in the aroused sensation. “Now, get out. Before I order you in here to properly _thank_ your prince.”

A low chuckle issued from his throat, echoing softly off the marble walls. “In another eon, perhaps."

“Pity. Used to be a time you leapt at such an opportunity.”

“Used to be a time when you eagerly begged for it.”

“Your memory’s slipping.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes.”

He huffed another amused breath, reaching down to the tub’s edge. His hand breached the sudsy water, moisture soaking the cuff of his shirt and suit jacket sleeve as he sought her hand. He gripped her fingers delicately, curling her hand around the back of his as he pulled it free of the water.

“Thank you, Sera.” He swiped at the moisture on her knuckles before bussing his lips over the damp skin. “Thank you.”

Her brow pinched together, unable to be truly annoyed by his smooth charm. “You’ll only have one shot at this, you know.”

“Fortunately for you, I only need one shot.” He caressed the back of her hand once more, tightening his hold in a gentle squeeze before returning her hand to the water and rising from the bench.

His clipped footfalls across the floor were just as sure as they were on his arrival, but an obvious weight had lifted from his shoulders as he took his leave.

Hmm. Maybe there was more to this than just the obvious. Maybe this had just as much to do protecting the virgin as it did destroying her best knight’s greatest rival.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toast and tea make things better...kinda.

Newt’s nose twitched at the smell. So familiar. So comforting. Lavender Earl-Grey tea, his favorite.

His eyes drifted open, coming back to himself, snuggled under the covers of his bed. He yawned, rolling over as his brain kicked into gear - remembering everything. Gellert. His burned wrist. Percival. A bewitched Tina tending to him. 

He raised a hand to scrub against his face at the onslaught. It didn't help that his room was so bright. He had no concept of time, and couldn’t even begin to guess at the day. He had to be so screwed on his clinicals, missing so much. How was he ever going to explain it? Or, worse, graduate?

With another yawn, he stretched, taking a deep breath of the lavender scented air. Soreness twinged through his body at the motion as he struggled to understand how his flat could smell of fresh, hot tea. Had...had Tina stayed after all?

With shaky movements, he pushed up from his bed, squinting out the tiny window as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. A brilliant, white snowy world greeted his gaze and he shook his head, wincing at the dizzying discomfort.

His legs trembled as he staggered for the bedroom door, leaning against the door frame. The sight in his kitchen left him speechless.

Where he expected to see Tina’s warm eyes and kind smile, there was only his own demon knight, stern faced and focused. Percival's overcoat and suit jacket were nowhere to be seen, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled just below his elbows to expose strong forearms. The black suit vest, knotted tie and collar pins were immaculate as ever as he stood at the kitchen counter buttering a piece of toast.

Buttering a piece of honest-to-God toast.

Newt blinked once, twice, not sure he could fully trust his eyes. He stared harder at the scene - at the steaming teapot off to one side, at the plate with two pieces of toast, at the butterknife in Percival’s hand and the small jar of red jam on the counter.

Percival’s head lifted, eyeing Newt from head from toe. “You should probably sit down before you fall over.”

It didn’t sound like a half bad idea. Surely, Newt was hallucinating anyway. Since when did demons make toast?

A soft chuckle sounded as Newt pushed off the door frame. Oh, dear...had he said that last thought aloud?

“Terran toasters have their uses.” Percival’s words drifted after him as he moved for the couch. “I find it best to always be prepared.”

“Oh, please. As if you’d really ever use a toaster to smite someone.” Newt’s eyes drooped as he dropped to the couch cushions, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It just…it’s just amusing. An all-powerful demon knight in my kitchen, making toast.” Newt’s stomach grumbled at the prospect of food. “Which, why are you in my kitchen making toast?”

“You can’t die yet.”

“Oh. Simple as that, hmmm?”

“Simple as that.” The clack of the demon’s shoes echoed across the flat as Newt turned to watch the older man round the couch, plate in hand. Two pieces of golden-brown toast sat on the plate, topped with a spread of butter and the red jam. Newt felt his tired mouth pull up to a weak grin as he carefully took the plate.

The first bite was pure heaven, the sweet tart of raspberry bursting on his tongue. Had toast ever tasted so good? He took another greedy bite, feeling his stomach eagerly accept the food and long for more. Percival’s footsteps were just audible over the crunch as he continued to eat, looking up to see the demon place a steaming mug on the coffee table. Percival held a plate adorned with more toast in his other hand.

If Newt hadn’t already been prepared, he would have choked as he watched Percival bring a piece of toast to his lips and take a bite. His tongue darted out to catch an errant drop of jam and Newt just barely remembered to swallow. Newt sighed with a slow shake of his head. “Now I feel like I’ve seen everything. A demon who eats caviar and raspberry jam toast. Truly a connoisseur.”

Percival quirked a brow, eyes darting from his toast down to Newt. “My fondness for raspberries predates your existence by decades.”

Something about that made Newt chuckle. “How did you learn that? That you were fond of raspberries?”

The demon finished chewing, eyes heavy as he swallowed. “You don’t really want to know.”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“No,” Percival’s voice deepened with a hint of warning, “you don’t.”

Newt took a bite of toast, suddenly feeling like a scolded child. Of course, sitting on his couch wrapped in a blanket, eating toast with tousled hair probably had him resembling a child. Particularly compared to the pressed and polished man beside him. He perched forward on the couch, reaching for the mug of tea with his free hand. The hot slide of liquid down his throat was so inviting. He just might stand a good chance of feeling human again. After the toast and tea, and a shower - he just might yet.

He set his tea back down, settling against the couch and looking up to Percival with a hesitant edge. “Thank you...I don’t recall if I said it last night. Thank you for bringing me here, and for the toast. And the tea.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Percival paused, toast poised for a bite, “there’s a purpose to it.”

“Of course there is.” Newt suddenly felt tired and again reminded of what Percival was. “No good deed for the sake of altruism, hmm?” He took another bite of toast, mumbling around the food. “So, what do you need from me now?”

“I need you well enough to travel.”

“To travel?” Newt couldn’t believe it. “No, no that’s impossible. I’ve already missed so much from Gellert’s abduction, and I couldn’t possibly just up and go again. I’ve clinicals, and - and Dougal and Niffler have no one else.”

Percival looked unmoved. “It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Gellert must be stopped.”

“And you need my help to do it?”

“No, I don’t need your help.”

Newt furrowed his brow at the demon’s inscrutable tone, trying to decipher what was left unspoken. A chilling realization dawned, drying his throat despite the delicious toast. “No...you need me to be the bait. To lure him to wherever you want me to go.”

The demon nodded thoughtfully, chewing on a bite of toast, not bothering to look ashamed in the least.

“Well, no, absolutely not. I can’t just....I really cannot.”

Percival licked his lips, chasing the last taste of jam and toast before he turned from Newt back towards the kitchen. “Then, please give Gellert my regards when he comes to claim payment.”

Newt stiffened as the terrible truth crashed down around him. The cruel reminder that Gellert had stolen the claim on his virginity. His stomach soured but he still managed to swallow another bite. “And there’s…nothing you can do about it, right? Isn’t that what you said?” The details of their conversation were fuzzy. With an uncertain glance, Newt turned sluggishly on the couch to glance back towards the kitchen.

Percival poured a mug of tea. “It is indeed out of my hands. Short of destroying Gellert, that is.”

“And why does that have to involve travel? Can’t you just do that here?”

A patient sigh sounded across the flat. “I wish it were that simple, but demon knights are hard to render inert.”

“Don’t you have a king or queen or someone who can hold him to account?”

“My prince doesn’t care about your virginity.”

“No, of course not. How silly of me.” Newt felt his cheeks flame as he took another bite of toast, weighing the demon’s words. “Suppose I were to say yes. Hypothetically, of course - where would we need to go?”

“The Bahamas.”

A laugh startled out of Newt. That was simply right out. Taking a beach holiday with one demon in order to trap another? When he had clinicals and graduation to think about? “Well. There’s no way that can happen. There’s - I’ve so much going on here. And how long would we be gone? Is there a timeline for destroying Gellert?”

Percival shook his head, lips pursed conspiratorially. “It would be unwise to say anything further here at this time.”

Newt huffed, taking a rough bite, chewing. How had everything gone so upside down? He cast a glance around his flat, shaking his head. “Can you at least tell me why Gellert kidnapped and tortured me? Did you do something, hmm?”

“Nothing specific." Percival’s footsteps echoed across the floor, the demon crossing back into Newt’s living room with the mug in hand. "He could have stolen your mark anywhere, at any time. It’s not a long process, nor does it require any real preparation.” He paused, taking a thoughtful drink. “He simply tortured you because he could.

Newt’s eyes widened, horror-stricken. “Simply because he could.”

“Sure,” Percival didn’t look to contrite, “I could do the same without reservation.”

“But we have a contract-”

“The contract doesn’t include a non-torture clause.” The demon’s thick brows shrugged up knowingly. “Something to consider next time.”

Newt shook his head, stunned. “Next time…like hell I’m ever making a deal with a demon again.”

Percival chuckled, low and rich against the rim of his mug. “Careful. That is my home you’re talking about.”

Newt groaned, just resisting an eye-roll. “You are the most baffling, frustrating…irksome!...demon that I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“And all that even after you’ve met Gellert.”

“He’s abhorrent.”

“Then…I’m flattered?”

Newt surged forward, grabbing at his mug of tea and sloshing some against the table as he pulled it back. He tucked into a tight ball, drawing the blanket closer, well aware of the scowl on his face. “I doubt you even know the meaning of the word. What should you care about any compliment that we mere humans give you? You – who…everything about you is a well-wrapped trap. All dapper and attractive on the outside, but dark and twisted on the inside. Do you even feel any of the basic emotions at all? Or are they just empty words…” Newt trailed off, unable to believe the words that left his mouth.

Cruelty had no place in Newt’s life. He’d never said a cruel thing to anyone…no matter how abused the animals he treated. He firmly believed there was no cause for it in such a world. And yet, just now…the things he'd said. Yes, he was upset and frustrated but that was no excuse. He damn well knew better. Shame ate at him as he looked down to his tea, wincing. He didn’t even want to guess at the demon’s reaction. “My apologies. Truly, Percival," Newt said softly, "no matter what I’m feeling, I have no cause to say those things to you. It doesn’t matter what you are…no one deserves to have those things said about them or to them.” All too late, Newt realized he’d let Percival’s name slip and he cringed. What else could he possibly say to incur the demon’s wrath?

“Look at me, Newt.” Percival didn’t sound angry or upset. In fact, the words were eerily calm. Soothing? Newt steeled himself, looking up to meet the dark molten gaze. “Apologize to yourself if it makes you feel better. There are no words that you possess cruel enough for a being whose sole existence is cruel. Apologies are wasted on the inhumane.”

“But how can you say that?”

“I told you once not to mistake civility for humanity.”

“I refuse to believe-“

Percival made a shushing gesture, raising a finger to his lips as his eyes dropped closed. Newt stilled, tracking the press of the finger to the demon’s closed mouth. At length, Percival’s eyes reopened and his finger fell away. “Believe at your own peril. And you can rest easy – if Gellert hadn’t told you my name, I’d be disappointed that he’s losing his touch.”

A knock sounded on Newt’s door and he jumped against the couch. Bugger. Who could that possibly be? And, goodness, Newt was in no state to receive visitors. Especially not with Percival here…or would the demon simply teleport away?

“Newt?” Tina’s voice filtered through the door, accompanied by the jingling of keys. “I’m using my key.”

Newt’s eyes widened, sucking in a breath to tell her off, when the door swung open.

Tina froze instantly in the doorway, eyes going wide to take in Percival’s svelte form as he stood opposite a bedraggled Newt, each holding a mug of tea. The demon, for his part, looked completely unshaken, one hand casually in his trousers’ pocket as he sipped from his mug.

Her gaze slid back to Newt, incredulous. “Newt, I…sorry. I thought you’d still be in bed. God, I didn’t realize you had company.” She looked back to Percival with an uncertain smile. “Hi, I’m-I’m Tina. Newt’s friend.”

Percival nodded, lips pulling to a tight smile. “Colin.”

Newt’s brows climbed to his hairline. How in the world did Percival know about that? Goodness, did Newt have any secrets left?

Tina nodded slowly. “Nice to meet you. Finally. Newt’s not said all that much.”

“Good.” He fixed Tina with a hard look full of intent.

Newt gasped as Tina’s face fell slack, her eyes glassy as her arms hung limp at her side. She looked…empty. Like she was ready to be programmed. He looked to Percival, face tight with outrage. “What have you done to her?! Last night may be one thing - but she’s my friend! Release her, this instant.”

“Time’s wasting, Newt, and we really should be going.” Percival drained the last of his tea, moving around the coffee table. “You’re concerned about leaving your business here, and I’ve found someone to carry on in your stead.”

Newt stared at Tina, aghast. “She has a life of her own. She can’t possibly attend clinicals for me.”

“No, but she can attend to the animals in your care.”

“She doesn’t live near here. It’d be such an imposition…I’d never ask that of her.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” The demon’s mug hit the counter with a definitive clink of ceramic before he reached for his rolled sleeves, uncuffing the fabric. “Come on, you need to start moving. If he comes for you here, I can do nothing to help you.”

Newt’s gut wrenched, conflicted. Yes, he really didn’t want Gellert to get him, but at what cost? What his professors must already think…honestly, it might be a small miracle that there wasn’t already a missing person’s bulletin out for him. Well, maybe miracle wasn’t the right word…it probably had more to do with demonic intervention.

“You…,” Newt couldn’t believe what he was about to ask, “you can fix it while I’m gone? My absence. Make it…not noticeable or something.”

Percival didn’t pause in buttoning his cuff. “Another deal?”

“No. I already told you never again.” Newt swallowed. “This…this would be a favor.”

“I don’t deal in favors.”

“Then, what if I refuse?”

“Then, you’ll find yourself similarly tranced like Tina. Like the chauffeur and the waitstaff, and you’ll do anything I wish.”

Newt’s heart sank, dropping his gaze back to his tea mug, further dismayed that it had gone cold. He was trapped. But so be it. If he had to play these demonic games to finally be rid of demons in his life, then so be it. He drained the rest of his cold tea, a faint wave of dizziness washing over him as he lowered his head. “If I truly have no choice, then I’d rather go willingly, than under your influence. I refuse to yield any more control to you. Or Gellert.” He pushed up from the couch, barely stifling a groan at the ache in his muscles. A shower was bound to feel magnificent. He glanced over at Tina, still standing slack-jawed and blank, and back to Percival who shrugged on his black suit jacket from a kitchen chair.

A bemused, impressed grin softened Percival's face. “For a human, you never cease to surprise me.” He reached for his overcoat as Newt shuffled towards his bedroom. “I hope you have clothing suitable for a warmer climate.”

Newt cocked him an accusatory brow. “Do you?”

A flash of black and white fabric as Percival slid into his overcoat was all the answer Newt received.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling with Percival proves frustrating. On so many levels.

Of course, the planes out of New York and Miami were private jets. Why wouldn’t they be? Percival never did anything of his own accord less than first-class. Were all demons this particular in their taste? Or was this something unique for Percival?

Newt shifted against the cushy leather seat debating whether to ask. Percival had been largely silent for most of the however many hours they’d been traveling. Actually, it suited Newt fine since he’d slept for most of the journey. Phantom pains still ghosted through his body and the bandage on his wrist started to itch, but overall, he was grateful to be so unscathed after such an ordeal.

With a yawn, he reached his hands over his head in a stretch as he gazed out the small window. Crystal-clear blue water sparkled beneath the plane, spreading out for endless kilometers. It was enough to be intimidating. Even though he’d flown over the ocean several times before, it had never been in so small a plane.

Percival, of course, looked completely unconcerned. In fact, as Newt’s gaze swept over him in a fleeting movement, it was downright unfair how composed the demon looked after so many hours in transit. He might as well still be sitting across the table at that fancy restaurant. Eating his caviar and drinking his champagne. His suit was unwrinkled and the knot in his tie pristine as the scorpion pins glared back at Newt.

Newt yawned again, scrubbing a hand over his face as he shifted in his seat. “How far out are we?”

Percival’s head moved ever so slightly, as if just coming back to himself - and goodness, wasn’t that a scary thought. Was it possible that he’d been...somewhere else just now? The demon titled his head, glancing out the window. “We should be there within the hour.”

“You’ve been here before…? To know that?” Newt glanced back out the window at the wide expanse of blue. There was absolutely nothing to get a bearing against to know position.

“No. I’ve been many places in this world, but not to the Caribbean.” Percival’s mouth edged with an expectant grin as Newt turned towards him, the question obvious in his face. “The pilot’s GPS, and his radio communications with the tower.”

Newt’s stomach sank. “Please tell me you’re not flying the plane, too.”

“Of course not. All I’ve done is simply give the man motivation to fly us to Crooked Island.”

“The Bahamas.” Newt said, shaking his head, unimpressed. “Still bloody ridiculous. Of all the places in the world.”

Percival dipped his head, regarding Newt from under his thick brows with a mildly scolding look. “Would you prefer Siberia? I have to tell you that even I found the temperatures there uncomfortable.”

“Siberia.” Newt nearly snorted. “When were you ever in Siberia?”

“I told you Gnarlack had far reaching Russian oligarch and mafioso connections.”

Newt’s face fell slack in a mix of surprise and hesitance. “You...you went to Siberia to shut him down?”

“The pact was to ensure the permanent shutdown of the shelter. You’ll find demons don’t deliver in half-measures. Me, most of all.”

“Well, that’s….” What was it exactly? Reassuring? Comforting? Somehow, Newt doubted those were words that Percival would appreciate being associated with demonic pacts. “Well, that’s something at any rate.” He reached for the buckle of his seatbelt, standing up with another languid stretch. His bag rested where he’d left it after boarding and he walked over to it, knees popping as he crouched to rummage through it. Thank goodness he’d thought to pack at least a couple pairs of shorts before leaving London.

He cast a quick glance back at Percival, noting the demon sitting ever so still before he moved further aft in the cabin towards the lavatory. Once changed into his shorts and canvas slip-ons, paired with his short-sleeve button down shirt, he settled back into his seat and the rest of the flight progressed quickly. 

The distant, even blank look on Percival’s face grew downright uncanny. Now that Newt had noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. The plane descended towards a spit of land in the distance and Newt couldn’t hold the question back. “You...when you’re sitting like that - it looks like you’re not really here. Like you’re...like you could be somewhere else.”

Percival blinked back to himself, settling to look at Newt with his piercing dark eyes. “Where do you imagine I would be?”

Newt quickly shrugged, averting his gaze as if to avoid a conflict. “Any number of places...hopefully, with the pilot to some degree. I’d like not to crash on descent. But otherwise...who knows...it’s like you’re fond of saying…”

“I’m always multitasking.” There was something almost fond, amused in Percival’s tone. Newt could downright feel the approval - maybe even affection - rolling off the demon’s otherworldly stare. It had always been a palpable thing. Even from that first day in the IKEA aisle.

It wasn’t much longer until the plane touched down and rolled to a graceful stop.

Newt stepped out into the hot, humid air, squinting in the bright sunlight. The Crooked Island, Bahamas airport didn’t look any better from outside of the plane. Just a ramshackle little building and a tower that looked ready to collapse in high wind. Newt licked his lips, taking in the scene as he hefted his duffel bag. What on earth could possibly be here for them?

He turned back towards the plane and nearly tripped over his feet at the sight.

Percival emerged down the plane’s steps, his dark gaze shielded by sunglasses that highlighted every attractive angle of his face. There was no trace of the black and white ensemble he always wore, replaced instead with an equally tailored dove-gray linen suit. A pale blue dress shirt competed the look, the top three or four buttons undone to reveal a swath of his intriguingly smooth chest. A pendant in the shape of the ubiquitous scorpion hung around his neck, bared by the open shirt. He crossed down the steps, looking like a man with nothing but money and power, and Newt couldn’t help but stare.

If Percival was handsome before, he was fucking _edible_ now.

Newt blanched at the direction of his thoughts, feeling his cheeks burn. Angered frustration bubbled up under his sexual frustration, shooting the demon a sharp glare as Percival breezed by him. “Is this another demonic power, hmm? The ability to look absolutely gorgeous without trying?”

A smug grin ghosted across Percival’s face. “I already know my form pleases you. And no, officially, it’s not.” He didn’t break stride, continuing across the shoddy runway to where a sleek silver car sat glittering in the bright Caribbean sun.

Newt’s lips drew to an annoyed pinch as he hurried after the shorter man. The car interior was comfortably cool and the ride lapsed in silence. Newt knew he was completely at Percival’s mercy - he didn’t even know where they were heading. As the car turned into a harbor and steadily worked closer to the piers, Newt supposed the Bahamas wouldn’t be the worst place to die. At least, the water was pretty.

The car rolled to a stop at a long pier and Percival swept out of the backseat without waiting for the driver. Newt called out a paltry thanks - how could he not? - even though he knew that Percival had this man under the same mind-bending control as everyone else who assisted the demon with his earthbound movements. The door closed with a heavy finality as Newt gripped his bag tight and looked around aimlessly at the boats. What were they possibly doing here? Didn’t they just land on this island? 

Percival hadn’t stopped moving since he exited the car, continuing down the pier. He didn’t even pause before he stepped aboard the boat docked there. And not just any boat - a long, thin gunmetal gray, red-trimmed sleek specimen of a boat. Newt felt his stomach flip as it conjured images of drug-runners that he'd seen in news reports. 

The demon looked right at home, however, as he gazed down at the helm, turning towards the stern as the engines roared to life. Goodness, but he looked like a drug lord, or a gangster with all the competent confidence. Newt felt his mouth go dry. It had no right to be so damnably hot. No right at all.

“No, no…,” the words bubbled out of Newt, “I cannot stay silent anymore. This...this is just absurd. And obscene! Sure, it’s one thing to brainwash a chauffeur and con a free meal. But this - private jets and go-fast boats...cost a fortune. And I really don’t want to be arrested for stealing.”

“If you believe any mortal can arrest me, than you haven’t been paying attention.” Percival stepped up onto the gunwale moving for the boat’s bow. Newt watched, speechless as the bow lines were cast off and Percival moved gracefully back over the boat’s ledge to step into the plush, open cockpit. He cast a fleeting glance at Newt before moving for the stern lines. “We need to get going, and you know that I’m done asking.”

Newt bristled at the implied threat. With a pointed scowl, he marched to the boat’s edge, dropping his duffel down into the cockpit. “I followed you here. Willingly. What the hell else would I do now if I stopped?” He tried to hold his displeased expression but faltered as he stepped aboard the boat, the bobbing motion in the water catching him by surprise. When was the last time he was on a boat, anyway?

Newt stalked around to the front of the cockpit, dropping into the chair opposite the driver’s. He pointedly didn’t look back as Percival unhooked the lines and the boat started to drift. He continued to pointedly not look as Percival took to the helm, slipping the boat free of the pier and easily navigating through the harbor.

The minute they hit open ocean, Percival opened the throttle. The boat sang as the big, powerful engines gained in speed, zipping them across the open waves. Leveling out, the boat seemed more to skim over the water's surface than actually cut through it. Newt had never been much of one for speed - too reckless - but he couldn’t deny there was something thrilling about it. Liberating.

Of course, it had nothing to do with the man - demon - at the controls. Percival’s hair caught in the rushing wind, a strangely pensive lift to his lips as he kept a hand lazily on the wheel and the other hovering over the throttle. Was this just as...invigorating for him, as well? Well, maybe not invigorating. Relaxing, maybe. Perhaps liberating was still the best word for it.

Whatever it was that softened the demon’s countenance made Newt’s heart flutter unexpectedly. Goodness, if only the man next to him…was actually a man. Admittedly, Newt might just tackle him to the cockpit floor and beg to be taken here, _now, please_. To surrender completely to the effortless power and confidence that the man oozed.

Except that was still the problem. Percival wasn’t a man - wasn’t human - despite how he looked. And Newt had to remind himself - convince himself that was only what his attraction was. A biological reaction to a biological stimulus. Attraction born of some appeal to a baser set of instincts. It was the only explanation that Newt could come up with to justify the tightening in his shorts despite the knowledge of everything Percival truly was.

Time passed without a care as they flew across the water, a dark shadow emerging on the horizon. It looked like another island - a rather small island. Well, more a spit of land to be honest. Long, white beaches; sparse groupings of trees; rock clusters. Percival turned the wheel and the boat sped along a parallel trajectory, running along the island’s side. Newt stared at the passing landscape, intrigued at the lack of signs of human development…in fact, Newt didn’t even see signs of a harbor. Just where in the world were they going?

The throttle lowered under Percival’s hand and the boat slowed, throwing a wide white wake of water. With seemingly practiced ease, he pointed the nose of the slim boat towards the shore and continued forward. Newt’s brow furrowed as he grasped at the windshield, pulling himself to stand up. “There’s not a pier here. In fact, there’s nothing here.” He looked over at Percival with a concerned glare. “Percival...what are we doing here?”

“We’re going exactly where we need to go. Mayaguana” A buzzing noise accompanied his words as the boat continued to glide towards the shore. With a final bubbling push on the throttle, the boat wedged forward in the sand, tilting slightly to the side. Newt turned towards the stern, surprised to see the engines and propellers raised up, almost out of the water as the nose of the boat rested on the beach. How were they possibly going to get unstuck now?

If Percival was equally concerned, he didn’t show it, instead moving around Newt’s seat to take to the gunwale again. He gracefully moved for the bow, bracing a hand on the low railing before jumping over the side down towards the beach. Newt scrambled to follow, too intrigued for his own good.

His movements were far less graceful than the demon’s but at least he managed to not sprawl face down in the sand. The waves lapped gently around them, the boat looked a sad sight beached among such stillness after flying so free across the water, and Newt stomped through the sand after Percival.

He sighed, squinting at the demon in the bright light. “I suppose it will be just as easy for you to get the boat unstuck when we leave, hmm?”

“I’m sure you’ve figured out this isn’t my first time behind the wheel of a boat.”

“Which, I’m sorry, is absolutely fascinating. Surely, with no one else around,” Newt gestured wide, “you can actually tell me about that.”

“Fishing boat, off the Irish coast.” Percival didn’t even hesitate. “Tracking selkies.”

Newt’s eyes widened as a thousand more questions sprung to mind. Goodness, Percival was such a wealth of knowledge. It was truly a shame that he didn’t reveal more…Newt wanted to learn so much. “Selkies, really?”

“After all this, you’re still surprised to learn supernatural creatures exist.” The demon’s lips lifted with the slightest hint of amusement as they crossed off the beach and started up a grassy hill spotted with shrubs and low-laying trees.

“Not surprised,” Newt defended, “still amazed, I suppose. All the things you’ve seen, and all the knowledge you have…it’s remarkably, really. Humanity thinks we know so much, when it seems we know nothing at all.”

“You know more than most. One might argue it makes you a target.”

“Well, I’ve already made a deal with one demon and been tortured by another. I know better than to ask the obvious question as I’m sure you’ve got some enigmatic 'there are more things in hell and earth, Newt, than are dreamt of in your philosophy' response."

Percival's light chuckle drifted on the breeze. “I wouldn’t need to plagiarize Shakespeare to convince you that you were wrong.”

“STOP!” A lilting voice with no real menace sounded as a man emerged from behind a tree. He moved towards them at a brisk pace, despite the casual line of his shoulders and hands jammed in his trouser pockets. “Let me get a look at you.”

Percival bowed his head, sliding off his sunglasses. The man stopped just in front of them, his eyes locked to Percival’s. Newt didn’t think much about the newcomer – he looked incredibly unassuming in a carefree, bohemian way. Large trousers billowed loosely around his legs in the sea breeze, and the linen shirt he wore may have been brilliant white at one point, but it had faded and clearly seen several seasons. He had a neatly trimmed bread and graying brown hair that hung slightly longer than average.

The man tilted his head as he continued to regard Percival, squinting with interest. “My, my. The great Percivalatious. I’m honored.”

The demon tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Dumbledorebus. I assume Seraphina informed you?”

“She did,” Dumbledorebus sounded almost bored, “you want to open the trap, and defeat your greatest arch-rival, and so-forth. She was terribly blasé about the whole thing but she wasn’t fooling me. Gellertonium will stop at nothing.”

Percival’s brow creased. “It’s true, then…?”

The other man shrugged, face upturning. “What is true? Is it true because I tell you it is? Or because you believe it?”

“Your presence here points to some truth.”

Dumbledorebus hummed thoughtfully, turning to look at Newt for the first time. Newt quickly dropped his gaze, not wanting to inadvertently cause trouble. “And your hapless human, caught in the middle of this immortal struggle. None the wiser for it, seemingly.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly, no.” Newt said softly, eyes flitting up to Dumbledorebus cautiously. “I know more than I should, probably. Percival’s a demon, and we’re here to trap Gellert – and you’re, presumably, a demon, too.”

Dumbledorebus chuckled softly. “Officially, I’m an angel,” he rolled his eyes skyward, still amused, “though the others don’t much care for me to associate by that distinction.”

An angel? Well, this man certainly didn’t look like an angel. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Then again…neither did Percival look like a traditional demon. How many other people had Newt met in his life who were not officially human?

“Well,” Newt started softly, “whatever you are or call yourself, it’s nice to meet you.”

Dumbledorebus’ lips lifted with a fond, affectionate edge. “I like you. Humans don’t usually come so polite. Especially not with a demonic pact on their soul.”

Newt winced at the reminder. Even if his soul wasn’t part of the pact terms, it still stung to hear confirmation that it tarnished his metaphysical being.

“You needn’t worry about it.” Dumbledorebus’ tone was soft and comforting. “You’re still a good person. Far better than most.” He chuckled softly as he shook his head. “Saving the animals, indeed. Quite selfless. And surprisingly noble for your knight. Though, he is lacking in shining armor.”

Percival squinted harder, displeasure wrinkling his brow. “I’m more than happy to leave that to your kind.”

Dumbledorebus rumbled again with soft laughter. “How much I’m looking forward to this.” He cast a fleeting, placating glance back at Newt. “If you’ll be so kind as to wait for us here? You may already know more than you should, but there are limits.”

Newt wanted to protest, to demand that he be included. Especially if it was – literally – his ass on this line. But the two immortals had already turned away him, walking off in the direction that Dumbledorebus had come from, seemingly unconcerned about Newt’s acceptance.

Thing of it was, even if he refused to accept it – he knew he’d be powerless to do anything different.

What a fine trip this had turned into.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel, a demon, and...a doll?

“He’s cute. That human of yours.” Dumbledorebus chuckled as he moved through the shade of his breezy, over-stuffed dwelling. “Far too innocent for the likes of you.”

“Hence the appeal.” Percival glanced out the window, just able to make out the sweep of red curls in the sea breeze against the landscape. He had to give Newt credit – this was far more disruption to his life than just a demonic pact, and all things considered – Newt was amazingly resilient. It tugged at something within Percival that he hadn’t acknowledged in millennia. Something that had long been burned away. 

When he turned from the window, the grin that curled the angel’s mouth was far too shrewd as Dumbledorebus spoke. “Not even you can lie to me. But, please, lie to yourself all you want. Tell yourself it’s not possessiveness, it’s not protectiveness, it’s not desir-"

“That’s not why I’m here.” Percival's words were little more than a frustrated growl.

Dumbledorebus shrugged a dubious brow but stepped over to an obvious worktable. “Of course not.” His hand skimmed over the various contents on the table’s surface – different jars, test tubes, beakers, a cauldron, snippets of flora and fauna. “Like Sera already told me, you’re here to defeat your arch-rival.”

“And yours.”

“Ancient history.”

Percival titled your head. “So, you accept your exile here for all eternity.”

“Such an ugly word,” the angel shook his head lazily, “when Heaven won’t accept you, and Hell won’t take you – consider it freedom.”

Percival knew better. He knew serving as Guardian over the triangle was a punishment for the angel. A punishment for helping – and consorting, if the rumors were to be believed – with a demon. A certain white-haired, mis-matched eyed demon. How anyone could find anything redeeming in Gellert was beyond Percival. But somehow, this angel had. Reportedly.

“So,” Dumbledorebus’ voice drew him from his thoughts, “you’re going to open the Devil's Triangle.”

“Only with your help.”

“Smart answer.” The angel looked down to his worktable, reaching for a mortar and pestle. He popped the cap off of vial of leaves, shook several into the bowl and started grinding. “You know that you can’t trap him in his corporeal form, yes?”

Percival shook his head gently. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, well – you can’t trap him in his corporeal form.”

Percival reigned in his rising impatience. He hadn’t considered dealing with the Guardian would be so taxing. Perhaps this was how the Guardian inflicted his own sort of punishment on those who sought him out. “So, he needs to be trapped in another body?”

Dumbledorebus snorted softly as he sprinkled some powder and splashed white liquid into the mortar. “Sure, only if you want to take the same risks as trapping his current body.”

Percival narrowed his gaze, trying to understand. “Then he needs to be trapped in something…inanimate?” He hadn’t heard of that before. It was one thing to possess a human, to take corporeal form here on terra in a body…but to force a soul into something inanimate?

“All your thinking is making my head hurt,” Dumbledorebus sighed, “that’s why you’re here, right? You need me to do the thinking and you to do the motions. And you’re right, by the way – he needs to be removed from his corporeal form and forced into something inanimate. This, to be precise.” He held up a crude figure of a person. The body was made from rough burlap and appeared to stuffed with hay…or shrub branches? It was hard to tell. Percival knew vaguely about the practice of voodoo dolls, but this seemed like something else entirely.

“So, what do I need to do?” He nodded towards the doll in the angel’s hand. “I’m guessing you know an incantation that will drive Gellert into such an object.”

“You guess correctly.” A wicked grin edged Dumbledorebus’ face as he lifted up the mortar, moving around the table. “But first – we’ll need a few more things.” He stepped up to a small box on a shelf, popping the lid and pulling out a small white…honestly, it looked like a bone. A finger or foot bone, perhaps? Sure, Percival had broken many human bones over the centuries, but he couldn't speak to the exact shapes.

Dumbledorebus dropped it in the mortar, grinding it swiftly. “First – bone of the Father, unknowingly given.”

Percival’s eyebrows climbed on the implication. “Bone of the Father…? Bone of your Holy Father?”

“Via his Son’s descendants. Yes. Honestly, Percivalatious,” the eye-roll sounded in the angel’s tone, “Sera said you were intelligent.”

Percival bit back a frustrated retort. It wouldn’t help him get what he needed from Dumbledorebus. Unfortunately, the gleam in the angel's eye told him that Dumbledorebus was all too aware of his predicament.

“Next,” the angel continued unfettered, “flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed.” He set the mortar down and reached for a knife. Without flinching, he swiped the knife along his forearm, flaying off a perfect stripe of skin from elbow to wrist. It dropped into the mortar, curling over itself as blood flowed down Dumbledorebus’ arm. “Always such a nuisance.” He reached for a long, thick band of cloth, wrapping it around his forearm with practiced movements. Clearly, he’d done this before.

With the bandage wrapping the length of his forearm and securely tied, he turned back to the mortar, grinding the skin in with the other ingredients. “And finally, blood of the enemy. Forcibly taken.”

He lunged before Percival could blink.

The breath punched out of Percival’s lungs as Dumbledorebus sunk the knife deep into his side, twisting it ever so slightly. He grunted as the knife slide free and crimson blood poured forth.

He pressed a hand to the wound, hissing through clenched teeth. “You couldn’t have just sliced my arm, or warned me first?”

The angel smirked as he scraped the knife against the side of the mortar, blood running down into the bowl as he answered in a singsong voice. “Forcibly taken, my dear.” He moved the pestle around for a final mixing of ingredients, sniffing the mixture and smiling wider. “That should do you quite nicely.” Setting the mortar down, he reached for another thick stripe of cloth bandage that lay on the worktable and handed it over.

Percival’s scowl didn’t lessen as he took the bandage and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. The blood had hopelessly stained through his shirt and suit jacket, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it without returning to Hell. The wound posed no threat to his existence on terra, but he would be unfortunately weakened until he could return to the source of his strength. 

Dumbledorebus chuckled as he watched the demon wrap the bandage around his torso. “I look forward to seeing you explain that to your human out there. I imagine he’ll be concerned?”

“Unlikely.” Percival didn’t want to give him anymore satisfaction. “He did threaten to run me through the heart with a steak knife during dinner.”

“During dinner? My, my, Percivalatious.” The angel’s words had a salacious edge. “One might almost think that you _do_ care. But that’s impossible. Demon’s don’t care about humans – or angels.” His eyes twinkled with dark glee as he tipped the mortar’s contents into a pouch in the doll’s chest. “Perhaps you and Gellert aren’t so different after all.”

“Stabbing me with the knife was quite enough. Don’t add insult to injury.”

Another throaty chuckle from the angel was the only answer he received as he finished tying off the bandage. The buttons of his shirt followed and he buttoned his suit jacket, too. Not that it did anything to hide the stain.

He could just hear the angel murmuring in soft Latin, sealing up the doll’s chest with the mixture – potion – inside. With a smirk of satisfaction, Dumbledorebus picked it up and crossed over to Percival. “Here. The incantation is scribbled on a note in the doll’s chest. Don’t lose it now. And only use it when there’s nowhere else for his soul to go.”

Percival could easily read through the lines on that one. Only use it with no other living souls around. He took the doll, hefting it in his hand. 

“I’ll get you a bag.” The angel turned from him, sounding so relaxed and casual. As if nothing about their previous conversation - or knife stabbing - had taken place. “Oh, and I’ll throw this in for you, too.” He flashed a vial in the dusty sunlight before dropping it in the rough canvas knapsack. “Don’t drop it.” He lobbed it towards Percival.

An easy catch. With a skeptical edge, he dug in the bag, retrieving the vial. A liquid sloshed inside, but it wasn’t water. It looked more like oil. He sucked in a breath as he realized what it was. He looked back to the angel, suspicion in his gaze. “Holy Oil?”

“More effective than Holy Water. And I don’t touch purified blood. Though, you should be careful – there are lots of convents in these islands.”

He hefted the vial, still in disbelief at the gesture. “There’s only so much of this left.”

“And there’s only so many bones of the Father, too.” Dumbledorebus shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “I’m seriously reconsidering Sera’s opinion of you.”

Percival just barely held in a sigh. “Why are you giving this to me? There has to be a catch.”

“Always so quick to assume the worst. Just because you’re out to screw the world over with your deals doesn’t mean that I am. Call it a gift.”

Percival stared at him, leveraging every bit of his intimidating presence. He didn’t expect it to work, though. Dumbledorebus would only reveal what he wanted.

“Well, that and maybe,” Dumbledorebus relented, “I might owe Sera a favor.”

Against his will, Percival felt a twitch in the corner of his mouth. He doubted that he would ever know exactly what happened between Dumbledorebus, the angel's heavenly master, and Seraphinahepsut – but the angel's familiarity with Sera was certainly intriguing. Perhaps he would ask her about it.

He dropped the vial back in the bag, adding the doll before closing up the top. Slinging it over a shoulder, he looked back to the angel. “Anything else?”

“No – you’re free to go. And you should – you’ll have a hard enough time already convincing your human to leave behind a crab he’s befriended.” The angel winked with a soft laugh. “Nice to meet you, Percivalatious.”

The demon pushed back out into the open air, squinting in the bright light. With a tight grip on the bag, he slipped his sunglasses back on and walked towards the beach. Sure enough, Newt was crouched down in the sand, intently studying and gently touching something.

“Percival, look what I –” The words died in Newt’s throat, his face falling slack as Percival approached.

Percival knew well enough how he looked in his blood-stained suit with the rough knapsack thrown over his shoulder. He didn’t slow his stride as he approached the boat. Time was of the essence now.

“What – what happened? Are you alright?” Concern hung heavy on Newt's words. 

“Perfectly fine.” He called over his shoulder as he climbed up onto the boat. “Let's go. And no – you cannot bring the crab.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lonely night, Newt makes a choice

What did the angel do to his demon?

As much as it sounded like the setup of a bad joke, the question turned endlessly over in Newt’s mind. Especially as Percival refused to acknowledge anything about the sizable blood stain on his suit or the knapsack that he kept ever so close. Especially as the silence stretched over the blue waves and the boat cut through the water back towards Crooked Island. Especially as another car whisked them away to a beachside resort before they were shown to a large room overlooking the shining white sand and sparkling water.

Newt practically simmered with pent-up frustration as the room door closed behind them. Now that they were properly alone – not surrounded by poor, mindless lackeys – Newt planned to give Percival an earful. He’d come all this way willingly, after all, only now – now! – for the demon to shut him out. And that, he could simply not abide. Not if they hoped for success doing whatever it was they were going to do here in the Bahamas.

He threw his bag on the bed – the rather large and opulent bed - and turned around, drawing a breath to steel his resolve. The sight of Percival with a hand braced against the wall for support instantly drained all the fight from him. Concern flooded him as he continued to take in the demon, watching Percival draw deep breaths with his eyes closed as if summoning the strength to keep on his feet.

Maybe he was. If he was indeed so obviously injured and he exerted himself to control all those people, then maybe – maybe he was on the verge of collapse. But, goodness, how did someone go about caring for a demon? Let alone trying to heal them?

Newt sighed, taking a gentle step forward. “You should probably lay down.” He could so clearly remember Percival saying the same words to him earlier at his flat. 

Percival pushed off the wall, taking measured steps forward, as if stirred by Newt’s voice. He crossed to the closet, arranging the bag in the safe and punching in a code. It was impossible to see the numbers from Newt’s vantage point, but he heard the happy little tune as the lock clicked into place.

The demon’s dark eyes cut to him. “I need to leave for a little while. Stay here – please. I shouldn’t be gone long, and then – then we’ll talk.”

“Percival, please. Wait.” Newt braced to not be heard, to watch for inevitable puff of smoke. But instead, the demon just stood there, brow pinched in the obvious question. It tore at Newt’s heart against his will – to not see Percival looking as strong and sure as he always did. Newt licked his lips, shaking his head. “Never mind. Please go. I promise I’ll be here when you get back.”

With a weak nod, Percival disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, the faint trails of yellow sulfur raining down.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Newt waited. A cool shower felt nice as sunset glittered off the water. Maybe he was just used to cooler temperatures, but even with the air conditioner, he couldn’t quite get rid of the warm, humid feeling prickling on his skin. Darkness overtook the horizon and he slipped beneath the cool bedsheets, enjoying the feel of the soft material against his bared legs and torso. It was just too sticky for a shirt.

Sleep came surprisingly easy, despite his torrent of thoughts.

When next he woke, soft pink light bathed the luxurious room. He sighed against the pillow, yawning with a stretch. He was too far away to see the bedside clock and he didn’t really care. Wasn’t he technically on holiday, anyway?

Vague movement flashed in his peripheral and he turned against the pillow to see Percival. He stood, perched against the dresser that lined the wall opposite the bed. He looked worlds better. Khaki slacks and another light blue dress shirt, again unbuttoned to reveal that tempting swath of skin spotted with his scorpion pendant. His arms were crossed against his chest and Newt could almost just see the lines of muscles beneath the fitted shirt.

Color dusted Newt’s cheeks as he peered out from beneath the plush bedcovers, suddenly regretting that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “How…how long have you been back?”

“Not very long.” Percival’s voice was soft, yet infinitely steadier than it had been last night.

A strange sense of relief flooded through Newt as he licked his dry lips. “And you’re…better?”

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, “that level of exertion after the blow I took from Dumbledorebus weakened me considerably.”

“After the blow you took…,” Newt shook his head, slowly sitting up, tucking his knees under his chin still wrapped in the bedcovers, “I knew you weren’t alright.”

“Not 100% but I was alright enough for the situation.”

“Well, maybe you were. But I didn’t know that. How are we ever going to get through this if you don’t tell me things?”

“That’s why I woke you up.”

Newt’s brow furrowed. Hadn’t…hadn’t he just woken up? Gracious, but that was a disconcerting thought.

The corner of Percival’s mouth edged into the barest hint of a smile. It might have been apologetic, but Newt couldn’t say for sure. “We need to talk. About events to come.”

“Events to come?” Newt echoed, trying to keep his tone light. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just play me as your mindless pawn?”

“I have certainly given strong consideration to just using you. But...I’d rather have you continue to be willingly on my side.”

“Willingly," Newt huffed an exasperated breath, “I’d willingly help you do almost anything to keep that madman from claiming the pact that I made with you. I mean, if I have to choose, then….” Heat bloomed in his cheeks as he realized the implication of his words. Especially as he sat in bed, half-naked and sleep mussed with Percival so close, looking as he did.

“Then, let’s make it so you don’t have to choose.” Warm affection flashed across Percival’s face and disappeared just as quick. “So, you know where we are?”

“Of course. The Bahamas.”

Percival turned, raising an index finger and gesturing in the air. A fine fire trail started to form, drawing out a triangle shape. He pointed to the bottom left corner. “Miami, Florida.” The words hovered over the point in the fiery script as he moved to the bottom right corner. “San Juan, Puerto Rico.” He moved to the top point. “And the island of Bermuda.”

Newt’s eyes widened as he stared at the triangle and a star formed, glowing bright just inside the bottom edge. “We’re...we’re in the Bermuda Triangle?”

“As humans now commonly call it. It’s been known as the Devil’s Triangle for much longer.”

Of course, Newt had heard about the Bermuda Triangle. A favorite of conspiracy theorists the world over for supernatural and extraterrestrial activity to explain the large number of lost ships over the centuries. But what were they doing here?

He looked to Percival briefly, then back to the triangle as the lines of fire started to wink out. “And what does the Devil’s Triangle have to do with us?”

“Circles are used for protection. Squares and rectangles for safe-keeping. Pentagrams and paired triangles for traps. And the Devil’s Triangle is the only natural trap on terra.” Percival waved his hand and the remains of the map dissolved. “This fight must play out here, and Gellert cannot be killed. So, he’ll have to be trapped.”

“Trapped? Here in the Bermuda Triangle?” Newt couldn’t help a soft snort. It sounded absolutely preposterous.

“Yes.” Percival’s eyes met his with a grave seriousness. “He will have to be driven from his form, trapped in another vessel, and bound within the triangle. Only then will he be incapacitated.”

“Well, that...that does sound like an awful lot. But, forgive me - you’re already in the Devil’s Triangle. Doesn’t that render you trapped, as well?"

“If anything severe enough were to happen to this form, then possibly.”

“But if you can’t die, then what can happen to your...form?”

“Enough damage that I’m forced to retire into another body. Or return to Hell and heal enough to re-materialize in a corporeal form.”

Newt stared back at the admission, at the unspoken truth that Percival had to do that last night “But how? How would Gellert do it? Surely, he wouldn’t shoot you, or stab you...or whatever happened yesterday.”

“No. Holy Water and Holy Fire are his best options. Purified blood will also work, but that’s harder to come by.”

Newt stared back, aghast. “And just what do you plan to use to drive Gellert from his form?”

“Holy Fire, courtesy of the Guardian.”

“Goodness.” Newt shook his head, trying to understand. “And if you do...successfully - if that’s the word - drive him from his form, what happens then?”

Percival’s brow furrowed, concern seeping into his dark eyes. “He’ll search for another one.” The demon pursed his lips in a tense line, face hardening with an unspoken truth. A truth that sent a ripple of fear down Newt’s spine, made him gasp.

“You mean…me? He’ll try and… _inhabit_ me?”

“Possess you. And he won’t just try.” Percival exhaled a deep breath. “You only have three options - die; accept another mark; or be possessed by me.”

“Quite frankly, none of those sound appealing.” Newt licked his lips, considering. “I didn’t think I could accept another mark, while bound in a pact with another demon.”

“It’s not that kind of mark. This one goes over your heart and would protect you against any demonic possession. Even from me.”

“I assume this is another seared mark?”

“Yes.”

Newt winced. “And it has to be over my heart.” He didn’t actually expect Percival to respond. He had heard the demon perfectly well. “Is it permanent”?

“I assume so.” The corner of Percival’s mouth lifted hesitantly. “I’ve never actually bequeathed an anti-possession mark to a human before. It’s too self-defeating.”

Newt’s eyes widened on the admission. “I’d be your first? So, you don’t know if you can actually do it?”

“The incantation is easy. Hellfire burns just as readily as the Holy Spirit. Otherwise, you could seek out your internet and a terran tattoo artist, but that takes time we do not have. Gellert owns your pact and can track your location, same as I could. He knows you’re here. He assumes I’m with you, to lead you here. He will come for you anytime.”

“Then, what are the risks with...you possessing me?” Newt shook his head. “How can you even do that when you already occupy your body?”

A faint smirk softened the demon’s face. “Another privilege of rank.”

Newt dropped his chin to his knees, shaking his head. “Lovely. So, it’s either accept another scalding mark that we don’t even know if you can properly do; or, submit my body to your whims. And not in the biblical sense, per our original pact.”

“Assuming you’d like not to die.”

“Of course, I’d like not to die.”

“Then, you will have to decide.” Percival’s expression darkened. “And you will have to understand that other people will die.”

“Other people?” Newt looked over with concern. “But, surely not. There...must be something we can do.”

Percival shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “We won’t get to choose when Gellert engages. We may be alone, but I doubt it. He’s always liked an audience.”

“But there has to be some other way. Not just...just killing people.”

“Each living body is another vessel for him to possess, and I cannot allow that.”

Newt hummed with a grunt of indignation. “Of course not. So what’s a few human sacrifices in your great big immortal battle?”

“Gellert must be stopped. At all costs. This is far bigger than any stolen pact.” Percival’s chilling tone froze Newt in place. “He’s planning to overthrow a prince. If he takes the throne - the struggle between Heaven and Hell will escalate. And Gellert won’t care how many humans burn in his quest for victory.”

“But they’re innocent in this. You can’t just...can’t just kill-”

“I’ve killed scores of people.”

“But not since...since you met me.”

The demon sighed, looking back at Newt with a soft, pitying edge. “You can’t un-demonize me, Newt. It’s what I am.”

“But it's not all you are.” Newt implored. "With Gnarlack, you destroyed the man when you could have used a means that destroyed the animals, too, but you didn’t. And you - you could have left me to die after Gellert took me. You say it's all with a purpose, but - that night at dinner...that wasn't a purpose. That was...something else. Wasn't it...?" Goodness, listen to him. What did he actually expect Percival to say to that? He hadn't been trying to make a plea for Percival's humanity or an appeal to the demon's heart, but...he had shown himself to be more than the dark, twisted being that he explained to Newt over dinner. 

Percival's expression betrayed nothing and Newt couldn't help the pang that shot through his heart. So maybe he was a little more desperate for reassurance than he thought. Maybe he wanted to lean into the comforting embrace of Percival's arms, a physical affirmation in the face of such insanity.

The demon's voice was soft when he spoke. "You still haven't made a decision.”

Newt sighed, disappointed that Percival hadn't actually acknowledged him. This certainly wasn't what he wanted to deal with first thing this morning. At the very least, he could appreciate Percival’s honesty. Maybe...just maybe. He fidgeted with the bedcovers, weighing his options.

He’d trusted Percival so far, right? And the demon hadn’t really done anything against him. In fact, he’d treated Newt to a meal, a trip to the Bahamas…treated being used loosely, of course. So, maybe…perhaps he could trust Percival just a little more. He swallowed, finding his voice. “I’ll choose possession, then. I’d rather not endure anymore scalding pain if we don't know it will work. And dying is right out, of course.”

Percival’s face held an inscrutable expression, much to Newt’s displeasure. Was the demon proud of him? Pitying him? Had Newt just made the biggest fool of himself? Of course, he probably did - who else in their right mind willingly chose demonic possession?

He couldn’t bear the silence any longer, flipping the covers back and rising. “So, now what? We...just wait for him to arrive?”

Percival’s lips quirked as Newt shuffled past. “What else do humans do in the Bahamas?”

“You’ve never been to a beach even outside of the Caribbean before?” Of course the question was ridiculous. Large amounts of this conversation had been ridiculous. But that just seemed to be the norm in Newt’s life since meeting Percival.

The continued lift to the demon’s lips was mildly humoring, letting the silence speak for him. 

Newt turned away, staring out the window at the shimmering water and crystal clear sky beyond. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it...if we have to act like tourists. Then, I guess we’ll sit on the beach, get sunburned, and drink cocktails from coconuts.”

He didn’t miss the piqued expression on Percival’s face as he pulled his swim trunks from his bag and disappeared into the bathroom.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh.

It’d been almost four days. Four days of watching the surf roll in and the sun shine on clear, blue water. Four days of camping out under a beach umbrella with the canvas knapsack from Dumbledorebus and waiting.

It was weird, sure, but Newt tried to stay positive. Things could always be worse. They could be camped out in Antarctica or the Himalayas - like Percival said, there were far worse places to be than a remote resort beach in the Bahamian islands. Sure, he had to use about a liter of sunscreen a day, but that seemed a small price to pay. Especially if they were staying at the resort for free. Newt tried not to think about that much. Percival wouldn’t listen to him, anyway.

But sharing a hotel room with a demon for four days had been incredibly insightful. Especially since that morning Newt accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom. It sounded like something out of a clichéd romantic comedy, but who honestly expected a demon to need to use a bathroom, anyway?

 

_Newt woke to gentle sounds of the surf lapping against the shore. He rolled over in the expansive bed to find the couch - and the rest of the room - empty. He still didn’t know if Percival slept at night, but he’d been seated on the couch, sipping a 20-year rum when Newt finally closed his eyes._

_Now that it was late morning, he could only assume that Percival was out. Perhaps on the terrace? The door was cracked open, after all - hence the sounds from the beach._

_With a yawn and a stretch, Newt pushed up from the bed. Running a hand through his hair, he debated throwing on his discarded shirt and venturing out to the terrace, but turned for the bathroom instead. The door opened to the most stunning sight._

_“Oh goodness, I -I’m sorry. I-.” The rest of Newt’s words died as his brain processed the image in front of him._

_Percival wore nothing but a towel. It knotted low around his waist, revealing so much skin. Skin that held a tapestry of time. Scars - some round, some long, some thick - peppered the skin of his torso, arms and legs. They could only be testaments to the countless lives he’d seen. Some were so pale and faint - a sure sign of age - while others were dark red, or stark white. Newt could see the obvious red, fresh scar from Dumbledorebus so prominently among the rest._

_But even with the myriad of marks on his skin, Percival was so remarkably human. Dark hair covered his legs and arms, and drifted down from his naval towards the towel’s edge. Newt felt his mouth go dry as his eyes ghosted over the slight bulge that pressed against the towel there before drifting back up Percival’s chest. That’s when his breath caught._

_How had he not already noticed this? A tattoo sat over Percival’s heart in the shape of - well, maybe it was a rune? Or a sigil? But it glowed. It glowed like the dying embers of a fire, swirls of orange and black rippling through it. It stood stark against his pale skin, a symbol of everything about his demonic existence._

_Newt honestly couldn’t say how long he stared. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. It just...this was the last thing he ever expected to see. Perhaps he was back in bed still dreaming._

_When Newt finally dragged his eyes up to Percival’s face, the demon’s expression confirmed all too well that he was wide awake. “Good morning to you, too.” There was something strangely soft and hesitant on Percival's voice. Like maybe he was also a bit uncomfortable at being caught so exposed._

_Newt felt his cheeks burn redder as he swallowed, trying to wet his mouth. “Good morning. I - apologize. I didn’t realize...that you, um…might actually need to use the bathroom, too.”  Sure, he’d seen the demon make toast, but thinking about him needing to take a shower just seemed absurd._

_“My body is just as real as yours in this realm. If I’m here for long without a reprieve, it needs care, too.”_

_“A reprieve? Like when you pop back to Hell?”_

_A mild huff of amusement crossed the demon’s lips. “Yes, like that. I suppose you could call it...regeneration? Come to think of it, I’ve never had to explain it before.” An oddly unsure expression crossed Percival’s face and Newt debated walking away, closing the bathroom door. But instead, his feet propelled him forward, drawn like a moth to the flame, unable to deny the pull of the captivating creature in front of him._

_Newt’s gaze drifted from Percival’s face back down to his torso, lingering on the smoldering, flickering tattoo. “Is that what gives you your power?”_

_“Yes and no. The mark of hellfire signifies what I am and allows me to wield it when needed.”_

_“It looks…,” Newt’s brow pinched as he studied it, “it looks like it burns.”_

_“See for yourself.” He reached for Newt’s hand before Newt could think._

_Newt gasped as the flat of his palm made contact with the mark and Percival’s skin. So much heat - inviting, unnatural warmth - emanated from the mark. It made Newt instinctively want to burrow in it and never resurface. The rise and fall of Percival’s chest, along with the contours of muscle added to the sensations overwhelming Newt’s brain. “Absolutely fascinating." He breathed, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he brushed a finger against the glowing brand. “No scarring or raised marks on the surrounding skin...like it’s just a part of you.” He tilted his gaze down Percival’s torso and the litany of scars present. “And each of these…” He slid his hand further down, tracing a punch-out there and a gouge here. “Marks from your past?”_

_Percival’s answering hum was soft. “The wounds close up, but the scars remain.”_

_Newt shook his head. “You’re so...human. But completely not.” He drifted back up Percival’s chest, noting a thin slice along the demon’s neck, a scraping scar on his right cheek. Goodness, Newt had never been close enough to him to actually notice it. His gaze drifted, alight with wonderment. “And yet the two moles on your cheek….” Without thinking, he raised a hand, swiping his thumb gently over the dark, round raised skin. As if he had to convince himself it was real, and not just a trick. “Did...did you have these when you were human?”_

_“Hard to remember, but I think so.” Percival’s voice was a deep, smokey rumble. “A cruel mockery now, more than anything.”_

_“No. They’re perfect.”_

_Percival turned his head more into Newt’s touch, and Newt realized just how close they were. Just how...utterly kissable the shape of Percival’s mouth. Just how much he wanted to be kissed by Percival. To know just how far that supernatural inferno spread through his body. To feel the bared, broad expanse of skin and muscle press against him. Newt felt himself harden against his shorts, watching Percival’s expression darken with a tantalizing hunger._

_Good lord, what was he doing? All at once, Newt remembered himself, pulling his hand back from Percival’s face with a quick motion. He backpedaled a few steps, breathing the free air as his cheeks flamed hot, feeling the flush spread down his chest. Goodness, how embarrassing. He’d never been so overcome by the sight of another person before. Surely, he wasn’t under any sort of spell. Was he? Or should he just apologize?_

_His manners won out, shaking his head. “I’m sorry...again. That was completely inappropriate of me to get so...familiar.”_

_“It’s quite alright.” The knowledge of truth glittered in the demon’s molten gaze and in the curve of his enticing grin, but he said nothing further as he turned to look back at the mirror. With a quick side to side glance, he must have been satisfied because he moved away from the sink just as quick. Of course, he should be satisfied - there wasn’t a hair out of place in his neatly styled locks or clean shaven jaw. “I was just finishing up.” He turned back to Newt, letting his eyes visibly rake down Newt’s body._

_Sparks shot down Newt’s spine at the continued, appreciative drag of Percival’s gaze. Especially as those dark eyes found his, and the velvety voice said, “all yours” before the demon turned and left the bathroom without a backwards glance._

_Newt nearly whimpered. He’d never wanted so desperately to not shower alone. To call back out and tell Percival, yes - I am all yours. To thoroughly explore all the man’s soft and hard facets._

_But reality doused like him cold water. Percival was NOT a man. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t._

_Why couldn’t Newt’s body understand that?_

 

Glancing over at him now, Newt couldn’t deny that Percival did present the perfect image of the ultimate man of luxury lounging on the beach. Perhaps others thought so, too. Honestly, they probably thought Newt was the perfect little boy-toy on his sugar daddy’s arm. Shoppers at IKEA surely assumed the same thing, so why wouldn't they here? Especially as Percival lounged in slacks and a half-buttoned dress shirt, while Newt wore a swimsuit and t-shirt.

So, would it really matter if Newt played the part? His and Percival’s loungers were close enough together, it would be easy to cuddle up to the demon’s side. To run his fingers along the stripe of skin bared by Percival's shirt and wrap around the scorpion pendant. Would the metal hold the same preternatural warmth as his body? Would Percival play along for the sake of the show and kiss him? Press him back into the lounger and let Newt feel the full weight and strength of his body?

Goodness, Newt was so screwed. How had it happened? How had he let himself get so hopelessly hung up on the demon beside him? He dropped the book to his lap, all hope of trying to keep up with the story lost. Shifting on the lounger, he debated just taking a nap as his gaze trailed over Percival’s polished form. Those damn flattering sunglasses shielded his eyes and even with the breeze, there wasn’t a hair out of place among the black and silver streaks.

Now that was just as intriguing as the two moles on his face. Newt stared without reservation. “Are you able to control your physical appearance? It seems you’re able to change clothes on a whim, and whatever holds your hair so neat must truly not be of this earth for no hair product is that good  - but the moles on your cheek and the gray in your hair would seem to indicate that you don’t control everything.”

Percival’s tongue darted out wet his lips. “You already know about the marks on my skin. But perhaps I happen to like graying hair.”

Newt snorted a badly suppressed laugh. “Really? You could have any hairstyle you wanted and that’s what you go with?” Percival just stared back - or maybe he blinked. Newt couldn’t tell through the sunglasses. “Not that it’s unflattering. Seems most people are always trying to find ways of looking younger and hiding gray hair always seems the first place to start.”

The demon’s lips pursed with a hint of annoyance, a hint of confusion. “Did you just compare me to most people?”

“Well...yes, I suppose I did.” Newt sighed lightly. “You were the one talking about adaptability for survival’s sake at dinner that night. But if you’re not able to control the graying streaks in your hair, then there must be limits to your adaptability.”

“Then, it sounds like you’ve just answered your own question.”

“Or you’d like me to think that I have.” Newt shook his head with a soft smile. “You know, I think I might just miss you when this is all over. I won’t know what to do when I return to the normal world where I get straight answers to my questions.”

The thought hit Newt like a sucker-punch. After dealing with Gellert, Percival would leave. He’d never see the demon again. Or would he? Why on earth would he? Their business would be concluded and Percival would return to Hell, free to make new pacts. Newt’s stomach soured with a strange sense of jealousy. He knew that Percival was not beholden to him, nor was he beholden to the demon, but the thought of Percival contracting with someone else just riled him. And yes - yes, he would miss Percival. He would miss the severe, oddly steady and even comforting presence of the demon in his life.

“Actually, no,” Newt said softly, “I will miss you. I know that I will.”

A curiously pensive look pinched Percival’s face, his thick brows wrinkling. “You’re...you know you’re the first person to ever say that to me. After all these millennia.”

“Can’t say that surprises me. Honestly, I’m more surprised with myself.”

“I do recall how you didn’t want me around in the beginning.”

“To be fair - I only wanted a bookshelf. The last thing I expected to leave with was a demon.”

Percival’s lips lifted to a small grin, but a spark of genuine mirth lingered. “Even if I live another eon, I doubt I shall ever encounter something - someone - so unique again.”

“Don’t be so sure. IKEA will change their inventory and products. You might just find yourself accidentally summoned again.” Newt’s gaze drifted down Percival’s torso, attention stolen as the breeze caught on the flap of his open shirt. The simple, refined scorpion pendant glinted in the shaded light. “Why a scorpion? Your collar pins. The mark on my arm. Your pendant. Is that your knight’s sigil or something?”

“Something.” An undercurrent of amusement sounded on Percival’s voice.

“Did you choose it?”

“I didn’t.”

“And each demon is assigned a symbol?” Newt’s brow furrowed in the ensuing silence. Perhaps it was too obvious a question. “Is that so you don’t step on each other’s toes?”

“All creatures have the ability to mark their territory. We’re no different.”

He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Fascinating. Truly remarkable. How I’d love to write a book about it - about you and your kind. The universal truths about you, us and animals that transcend domains, kingdoms, species - even the classification of our souls after death. It’s endlessly captivating.”

Disgust snarled Percival’s face and Newt couldn’t help but preen. The demon had found so many ways to exasperate him that it was nice, satisfying even, to vex Percival in return. It felt undeniably empowering to have an immortal sneering down at him like this. Maybe if Newt kept going, Percival would be forced to take action. Forced to silence Newt with a bruising kiss.

Would it be worth the risk to keep trying? For all the chance that Percival might kiss him, there also stood an equally unknown chance to receive some demonic punishment. Loss of his tongue, perhaps? 

Without warning, the air went cold and a shiver raced down Newt’s spine. Percival tensed at his side, sitting up in his chair, sunglasses-shielded gaze fixed on a point over Newt’s shoulder.

“Percival…?” Newt rolled over, looking in the direction of the demon’s gaze.

A dark figure strolled lazily along the beach, long coat flared in the breeze. The white shock of hair stood in stark contrast to the demon’s attire that hadn’t changed since seeing him last in New York. Gellert certainly looked out of place, strolling along in boots and an overcoat, among all the swimsuit clad tourists.

Percival swung his legs off the lounger, standing in a swift motion. Newt wrenched a hard swallow, heart hammering. Was this it? Was this going to be the final showdown…? Percival stepped out from under the shade of the umbrella, moving with casual ease as Gellert approached.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Gellert’s voice was just audible above the rolling waves, his mismatched eyes transfixed on Percival. “Though, I am sad to see that you’re taking your title of knight so literally. Though, dear Newt’s certainly not a damsel where it counts.” He sniggered at his own little joke. “You know, I’d gladly let you watch me split him open but I think I’d much rather enjoy keeping his screams for myself.”

Percival remained motionless, his sunglasses shielded eyes betraying nothing. “You won’t be hearing anyone scream, Gellert. Not when I’m finished with you.”

“Oh, Percy,” Gellert tutted, tilting his head with a teasing lilt, “still sore after all these centuries.”

“You trapped me. You _used_ me.” Percival’s words burned with long-controlled anger. “Left me to while away the eons with only madness for company until Seraphina found me.”

“Sadly, dear ol’ Sera just wasn’t herself when you weren’t around. I know she’s always regarded you as more than just her favorite fuck-toy. It’s disgusting, really - makes her weak. Too easily distracted.”

“Treasonous talk.”

Gellert chuckled smugly, clearly unconcerned. “All princes fall with time. It’s just as true for us as it is for the humans.”

“And you’ll never take her place.”

“Your words, Percy. Not mine.” Gellert cast his eyes around in a wide sweep. “And here we find ourselves, conveniently on the edge of the Devil’s Triangle. Two demons, one trap. If everyone on this beach weren’t already dead, it’d be amusing to place a wager.”

Gellert’s hand twitched at his side, but Percival was faster. With a flick of his wrist, Newt watched in horror as everyone around him on the beach dropped, collapsing like ragdolls. Lifeless. Dead.

Gellert paid the dead bodies no mind, his lip curling to a snarl as he hissed an inhuman sound. His hand just out of Newt’s sight moved, like he was fishing in his pocket. Percival moved before Newt could see what Gellert found - and it happened so fast.

Percival lunged across the beach, kicking up a spray of sand into Gellert’s face. With another hissing sound, one of Gellert’s hands flew to protect his face, and the other - the one from his pocket - flew towards Percival. The dark-haired demon dodged around the incoming hand, whipping his head at the last second. But it was too late.

Newt stared, watching the blood red liquid - honestly, it probably _was_ blood - splatter against Percival’s front. Percival let out a blood-curdling howl, tendrils of smoke rising from the blood red spots. His sunglasses were askew on his face, mouth deformed with a feral edge, as he reached for his own pocket with blinding speed. Gellert moved on the defensive but Percival caught him, returning a spray of seemingly clear liquid that had Newt squinting. No sooner did Gellert snarl at the liquid on his skin, did Percival push both hands forward, palms open and unleash hell. And Newt meant that literally.

Plumes of fire erupted from Percival’s outstretched hands, catching on the liquid covering Gellert. Brilliant flames spread over the demon’s form, engulfing him as he released a sound that made Newt’s soul shiver.

That’s when he felt it. The presence that pushed into his mind. The warm, invading presence that pulled him out of the driver’s seat and stuffed him into the trunk. Everything faded…everything except…. _Percival._

A shiver ran down Percival’s spine, despite the burning agony from the purified blood, as he settled into Newt’s being and took the motions of the lanky body unto himself. The feeling of having Newt completely to himself - unequivocally his - was heady. Powerful. But it was second to the truth that it signified.

Gellert had nowhere else to turn. With Newt solidly under Percival’s possessive influence, Gellert wouldn’t be able to touch him. Invigorated by the knowledge, Percival kept his hellfire trained on the burning demon knight. He’d always heard about the power of Holy Oil but he’d never seen it burn until now.

He drew a deep breath, struggling through the intense pain from the blood on his skin, and started the incantation. Gellert roared against the fire, swinging wildly with his burning limbs, as Percival continued reciting the ancient words.

Percival moved Newt’s body off the lounger, reaching down to the bag in the sand to pull forth the doll. With measured steps, Newt moved forward, holding out the doll with his black-eyed stare.

With a last push, Percival trained more fire on the struggling demon, pronouncing the last words with a strong conviction. Gellert howled, every muscle in his body tensing as his head flew back, face towards the sky. A black cloud spewed from his open mouth and Percival instantly stopped the fire, reaching out to pull the doll from Newt’s hand.

With the last word on his tongue, he held the doll up towards the black cloud of Gellert’s soul, willing it into the crude figure. He shook as the soul sucked into the doll, exerting his taxed power to activate the traps and constraints. Gellert struggled wildly in the doll's confines, slamming up against the wards and potion that the Guardian had placed within the doll. 

But Percival had to move fast. Holding the doll securely in one hand, he raised his other to sky. This was something he could do in his sleep. He gathered the remains of his strength through the stinging blood, and drew the atmospheric energy unto him. Dark clouds started to gather and swirl in the sky above, lightning flashed and thunder cracked. The wind picked up, blowing sand around the beach, currents lashing down to sweep up the dead bodied that littered the sand. In a quick movement, Percival shucked his sunglasses, taking in the gathering darkness as the sky yielded to his control.

A column of water, whipping out in a swirling spiral shot up from the ocean's surface. It rose up and extended towards Percival on land, and Percival couldn’t quite stop the smirk tugging at his lips. He’d done it. The Devil’s Triangle was open. He hurled Gellert, still trapped and reeling against his prison, right towards the column of water. The doll easily disappeared in the crystal blue vortex, sucking it down into the deep depths of the water. Lightning burst overhead and thunder clapped with a deafening roar as the trap snapped shut, and the vortex dissolved into a fantastic spray that rained down to the water’s surface.

Percival drew heaving breaths, staring around as the storm continued to howl and blow around him. The rain stung his skin where the blood had seared him and he felt his knees shake from overexertion. He turned to look back towards the resort, seeing Newt sill standing there, prone and submissive and free and beautiful in the driving rain. 

It took the last bit of his strength, but he reluctantly withdrew from Newt, watching his eyes close and body go limp. Newt collapsed under his own weight but Percival was instantly at his side, cradling him before he hit the sand. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parting is such sweet sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be ye warned at the rating increase. Dare I say I hope it's....satisfying?

Newt’s eyes opened with a startled gasp. On the beach, Gellert was there and he was on fire…but, no…now, it was just the stillness of their resort room. Darkness soaked the walls and lightning flashed out the window. The answering thunder only added to his confusion.

He shuffled against the pillow, curling up tighter, trying to understand it. There was just a gap…a blank space in his mind that would never be filled. How disconcerting, and yet…a memory did linger. A warm, engulfing darkness. Newt had thought it would be frightening to feel edged out of his own body, but really, it had felt oddly…right. Safe. Reassuring.

Were all demonic possessions like that? Was it designed to be a trick? To lure unsuspecting targets without resistance into a demon’s possessive clutches? But Percival didn’t keep him, and Newt couldn’t feel any new aches or pains. Whatever had happened, Percival certainly hadn’t taken advantage of him.

A flash of lightning and answering bolt of thunder made him start against the bed.

“Welcome back.” The familiar smokey smooth voice drifted across the room.

Newt shuffled to prop up on an elbow, eyeing Percival sitting in a chair opposite the bed bathed in soft lamplight. He rested with his elbows against his knees, dressed in the attire Newt first saw him in – the sleek black suit, luxurious black and white overcoat, neat tie, and sharp scorpion collar pins. Newt had grown so used to seeing him in light-colored linen clothing, he hadn’t realized how much he preferred Percival dressed so stylishly. Newt's fingers itched to rumple his perfect clothing, to card through his neat hair.

He forced a dry swallow. “Did it work?”

Thunder rumbled low in the background before Percival spoke. “It worked. He’s no longer a threat to anyone.”

Relief bloomed in Newt’s chest. Relief that he didn’t even know he needed. But all at once, a weight lifted. “You mean…it’s over? All of it?”

A soft nod. “It’s over. All of it. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing.”

“But…but I never paid you. For what you did with Gnarlack.”

“When Gellert stole the pact, the debt transferred to him. And with his incarceration, the debt erased. Null and void.”

“So…so, that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

An ache formed in Newt’s chest on the thought. Part of him wondered if he would feel differently during the moment of truth. But now that they were here, facing their goodbyes, it wasn't easier than Newt had thought. No matter how messed up it was. It should be witlessly terrifying to know a demon knight of Hell even knew about his existence. With Gellert, it certainly was. But with Graves – Percival – it never had been. Not even from that first meeting in the IKEA aisle.

Lightning lit the room, thunder rumbling in its wake. Newt cast a glance to the window, not wanting to acknowledge the chasm threatening to open in his chest. “Are you responsible for that? It hasn’t stormed since we’ve been here.”

“Yes. The price to open the triangle. Consumes and releases a lot of energy.”

“And now you’ll just leave? Disappear and leave the mess behind you?"

“That’s how it always goes.”

“But does it always have to?”

Percival pushed to his feet with a resigned sigh “There’s nothing else for it.” He crossed around the bed’s edge, moving with the same feline agility he always had. He looked down at Newt, hesitance evident in the set of his face. “I…well,” he cleared his throat, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture as he perched on the bed’s edge, not quite looking at Newt but no longer looking down at him, “I guess I…should…thank you.” The words were strained and so foreign. As if he had to remind himself how to string them together.

Newt’s lips lifted to a smile, softened with unmistakable affection. “I thought you said civility was different than humanity.” He couldn’t resist the tease, leaning to sit up, catching a hint of the scent that was unmistakably his demon – spicy, smokey, just a hint of sulfur. “When’s the last time you thanked someone and actually meant it?”

“Before right now, you mean?” A grin tugged at Percival’s mouth and Newt couldn’t look away. “I’m going to miss you, too, you know. My woefully ignorant, yet oh-so curious and strong human.”

Newt preened under Percival’s possessive pronoun. The thought of him being Percival’s anything was more appealing now than ever. “There’s never been anyone like you…to me.” He quirked a grin, more out of nerves than anything, his gaze rising to Percival’s face but not quite reaching the demon's eyes. The shape of his mouth and the dusky rose color was far more intriguing. “Can I…may I kiss you?”

Newt didn’t wait for a response, reaching a hand up to gently touch the underside of Percival’s jaw. The skin was surprisingly smooth and unnaturally warm as he leaned in, enough to feel Percival’s exhale against his lips.

“You’re playing with fire.”

Arousal shot through Newt’s body, brushing his nose to Percival’s, overcome with electric promise at the close proximity of their bodies. “You've already burned me.”

He closed his mouth over Percival’s, eyes sliding closed. Percival surged against the contact, meeting Newt’s kiss in a hard, commanding slide. A moan spilled from Newt’s lips, eagerly swallowed as the kiss deepened without reservation. The strokes of Percival’s tongue were just as sure, as strong as everything else the demon had ever done. Newt whimpered, melting and moaning raw at the hot touch, rapidly hardening against the confines of his pants.

He sucked in a gasping breath as the kiss continued, dizzy from the onslaught. His hand on Percival’s jaw slid back to the dark hair on his nape before boldly pushing up into the slick locks. Newt hardened further at the feral groan on the demon’s lips. _Fuck_ , he'd wanted this for so long. 

Emboldened, he raised his other hand to curl around Percival’s shoulder, trying to move closer to the broader, stronger body. He shifted his hips forward, whimpering at the pressure, longing for release, longing for the other man’s touch. With a firm press of his lips, the demon shifted, warm hands falling heavy to Newt’s hips and Newt found himself falling backwards onto the bed.

He sighed as he pulled Percival to rest atop him, opening his mouth for a scorching kiss and spreading his legs to welcome the larger body atop him. He could just feel the hard ridge of Percival's arousal against his thigh, driving his desire higher. With a hand in Percival’s hair and the other clutching at strong shoulders, he thrust his hips up. The sinful noise that tore from the other man’s throat made Newt ache with need. Goodness, what would Percival sound like with Newt’s mouth on him? Or if he were inside Newt?

The idea lit Newt on fire, mewling as Percival’s lips dragged down his jaw to his throat, nipping and licking. His head rolled to the side, wanting to surrender completely, to be devoured by all the confident strength Percival possessed. He rocked, arching up against Percival with abandon.

“Keep doing that, and I won’t stop.” Teeth punctuated the words against his throat, Percival’s breath unnaturally hot. “I will bury my cock in you. Make you scream from the pleasure of it. Make you feel me every time you walk. Marking you _mine_ in every way.”

Newt sobbed, clinging to the hard body above him, so close to coming. He wanted everything and more. To scream, to cry, to say yes, _God yes_ to all of it.

An unrestrained growl sounded in Percival’s throat as he surged up to meet Newt’s mouth in a possessive, hot, claiming kiss.

Had...had Newt actually said all that loud?

It mattered little as hands started to tear at clothing, Newt fumbling to work the overcoat down over the other man’s broad shoulders. With some quick shuffling and a flash of white fabric, the overcoat fell to the unoccupied side of the bed and Newt’s hand moved to the demon’s tie, brushing over the scorpion pins.

Percival pulled Newt’s hand away with a sharp hiss and a thrust of his hips, dragging a moan from the smaller man. That’s when Newt felt his clothes melt away, disintegrating and leaving him completely bare. Completely at the mercy and tight press of Percival’s equally unclothed body. The heat that radiated from the demon’s body was staggering. Newt had to touch.

He wrenched his hand free from Percival’s, drifting up the defined forearm and bicep muscle to wrap around the pale skin, trailing down the ridges of his spine. “So warm,” Newt rasped, voice pitched deep with desire, “always so warm.” He wormed a leg up around Percival’s backside, only wanting to be closer. The increased pressure of his arousal against Percival’s nearly had him on edge, whimpering with desperate need.

With a grunt, Percival pried Newt’s leg away, shifting to pin Newt’s wandering hands to the bed with one hand, and skimming his other down Newt’s freckled front. A noise of frustration pitched in Newt’s throat as Percival bypassed Newt’s hard need with a faint tease, drifting down further to brush against his opening with a startling slickness. A ripple of apprehension punched through the lusty haze, only to die when his gaze locked to Percival’s dark, blown-wide eyes.

The first finger felt foreign, but by the second – and the _third_ – Newt surrendered completely, moaning incoherently into Percival’s shoulder. He felt so full, he couldn’t imagine being fuller but he needed it. Oh, how he _needed_ it. Percival’s fingers crooked just so, brushing a spot that sent Newt’s brain offline.

His breath caught, tensing as Percival loomed over him, the blunt tip of him just resting against Newt’s body so ready to engulf him. Percival swallowed Newt’s gasping moan as he pushed forward, sinking into Newt’s body with steady control and otherworldly heat. Newt’s head flew back against the pillow, seeing stars and crying out as Percival pulled back before slamming his hips forward. Every nerve ending felt on fire, and why the fuck did they wait so long? Especially as Percival canted his hips and brushed against that same overwhelming spot deep inside him.

His heart pounded so fast as Percival moved in him, touching that place with every thrust - surely, Newt’s heart would burst. The pleasure, the drag, the fill, the rush was too much. Spiraling and torquing higher until it broke with a deafening roar, white ropes of release coating Newt’s belly. Percival stilled, buried to the hilt and Newt could feel a new, wet heat deep within, coating him, claiming him.

He held fast to Percival, a mindless mess, clinging to the demon for dear life. Dark strands of hair hung loose over Percival’s brow as he pressed open mouth kisses to Newt’s neck, jaw, cheek. Newt barely had the strength and presence of mind to press back against Percival’s lips when they met his own. Never before had he felt so complete. Never before had he known such satisfaction in just being with another person.

He wrapped himself tighter around Percival, desperate to hold the other man close forever. The mere idea of letting him go rotted Newt’s gut despite the euphoric haze still clouding his senses.

“You’re perfect,” Percival rasped through heavy breaths, “so fucking _perfect_.”

Newt blinked away moisture. Was...was he crying? A tear rolled down his cheek, lips pulling to a sleepy grin as Percival leaned in close, licking at the salty drop. Newt buried his face in Percival’s neck, the chasm in his chest splitting wide open. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to ever leave me.”

The gust of Percival’s answering groan burned his skin as the demon said nothing and Newt’s tears soaked against Percival’s skin. He could still feel the press of Percival inside him, and couldn’t ever imagine being without it.

Newt met Percival’s mouth in a lingering press, feeling the other man shift to slip free of his body. It made Newt feel so oddly alone, an ache rippling through his muscles as Percival extricated himself from Newt’s grasp, promising to return shortly. Newt’s eyes closed as he drifted, suddenly cold and missing the distinct heat of Percival’s body.

A warm, damp cloth against his belly and backside roused Newt from his dozing, rolling over onto his side as Percival bundled him onto the clean side of the bed and under the covers, tucked close against the demon’s side.

Newt burrowed into the touch and press of skin against skin, sniffling back more tears that threatened. “Please,” he murmured against the skin of Percival’s arm, kissing the pale skin, “please stay with me.”

Percival’s lips pressed to the nape of his neck, nose brushing against Newt’s curls. “Sleep. Just sleep for now.”

With a sigh, Newt’s eyes slid shut, and he drifted off.

 

The next morning brought only a cold, empty bed and the soft voice of the meteorologist on TV.

_“Boy, I tell you folks - Hurricane Maxine has literally appeared just overnight. A Category III storm currently pelting the Bahamas, and is expected to move up towards the Florida coast over the next few days. Don’t wait to get to safety- this storm materialized with no warning, so don’t be fooled_.”

Newt stared at his reflection in the mirror, face heavy with the telltale signs of heartache and loss. Especially as he glanced at the bruise high on his neck, a telltale lover’s mark. Especially as he ghosted fingers over the mark that now resided over his heart - a pentagram emblazoned with the most familiar scorpion shape. Newt couldn’t even recall when he received the mark - he couldn’t even recall a searing pain like the other hellfire marks he’d experienced. Had this happened when he was asleep? Or had this happened in the peak and rush of climax?

Would he ever see Percival again to ask?

Tears stung his eyes as he moved for the shower. Yes, his brain knew there was no way for him and Percival to actually be together. Sleeping with the demon was just an exercise in futility with no hope of a future. Yet Newt had no regrets. The tattoo brand over his heart was even comforting - a reminder, a sign that maybe, just maybe, he’d affected Percival as much as Percival affected him.

An envelope waited for him when he stepped out of the shower, and he couldn’t believe the obscene amount of money and airplane tickets within.

He left the Bahamas behind him with a heavy heart. But time heals all wounds and this, too, shall pass.

The memories linger, a fond, bright spot he always carries with him that no other lover could touch. And when one does graze the scorpion pentagram on his chest, or ask him about it - it always gives Newt a secret thrill to say “my first boyfriend was a real demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here at last, we come to the end. I cannot thank everyone who made it this far enough - your support and encouragement has been truly amazing! Thank you, thank you. This has been quite the unexpected journey, and I look froward to the next one. 
> 
> Cheers until next time, mateys!


End file.
